How my head whirled that night as I pondered the proposition! The cost seemed stupendous—twenty-eight dollars a month for office rent alone!—but on reaching home and talking it over with Father, we decided to accept her terms. So in mid-July Father and I started for U——, I with my trunk and books, my medicines, and few surgical instruments, and Father with the money to pay a month’s expenses, and a big fund of hope and faith in his daughter’s ability to make a success of this momentous undertaking. When I look back and see how inexperienced I was, how little I knew of the world and of life, I wonder at my audacity; I wonder still more at the faith my friends had in me, and at the confidence and respect which Dr. Wyeth showed in my ability and opinions; but to such faith and confidence I owe largely what success I have attained.
How busy Father and I were that first day, making my few purchases—a small desk being the main one; making arrangements for my business cards in the papers; ordering stationery; renting a lodging-room; and looking up a boarding-place! I recall the gown I wore—a dark green serge which Sister had made for me—very plain, as I had insisted, and suitable for a staid physician.
In a building adjoining the office building, I found a furnished room which I sub-rented from a woman living there, though just as I went there she went away for a time. I have never had such a desolate feeling as I had those few nights when, after closing the office, I climbed the stairs to that lonely little room, the halls echoing to my steps. And I kept thinking, “I am paying eight dollars a month extra for this loneliness!” So it was not many days before I asked Dr. Wyeth if she minded if I slept in the office, using her operating-chair as my bed; arranging a place behind the draperies for my clothes; and making a few other little additions which would suffice for my needs, yet not detract from the professional appearance of the office. She had no objection, but thought I ought to have a more comfortable bed. The change was made, and few who visited the office ever knew that I lodged there. For four years I slept on a narrow operating-chair, never thinking it a hardship.
Sending a month’s rent to the woman of whom I had engaged the room, I wrote her why I had decided to give it up. Replying with a menacing letter, she tried to intimidate me into keeping the room. Scared, though knowing I had made no compact with her for a stated time, I anxiously awaited her return to town, when I called upon her. Pale with rage, her eyes blazing, she denounced me as a liar and a hypocrite, and said she would blast my reputation in U——. I did not know what to make of such conduct. It was the first time I had ever had threatening or abusive language used to me. I had been perfectly honourable with her, but she was wildly unreasonable. I could hardly speak for the dryness of my mouth as she continued her vituperations, and when I escaped from her presence, it was as though from the den of a wild beast. For some time after I was uneasy, but she never took the steps she threatened. I learned later that her mother was insane, and that she herself finally lost her mind.
Under the head of “Business” in one of the city papers, the day after I went to U——, were two items only, the first telling of a new doctor (my humble self) locating there, and the other of a new undertaker having set up in business. Accidental as was the juxtaposition, it was nevertheless a bit startling.
One of the men in the office of the firm for which Father was then travelling had recommended to him a boarding-place for me near my office, and I had engaged board there at once. Although disappointed on seeing the fellow-boarders, knowing I could not afford a high-priced place, I had decided to grin and bear it; but when Dr. Wyeth learned where I was boarding, she said it would not do at all; she named two places, either one of which would be desirable. On asking what they charged, I found that one was two dollars more a week than I was paying, the other one dollar more. So, telling her how necessary it was to count the cost till I could get a footing, I said I had better make no change. But she earnestly and emphatically opposed my staying there; said it was poor policy, would immediately tell against me—a bit of worldly wisdom that I strongly rebelled against—a dollar a week more just to please Mrs. Grundy and board in a more aristocratic neighbourhood! I was full of impotent rage at such a state of affairs, and Father had much the same feeling, but having great respect for Dr. Wyeth’s judgment, I reluctantly made the change. Immediately I saw that she was right. The people with whom I then came in contact were cultured; the whole atmosphere was desirable; and, in a short time, through acquaintances there, I was engaged in work which did much to introduce me well in the city.
“In the leisure of your first few months’ practice” was a phrase which one of our professors had often used in lecturing to us, and through this facetious reiteration, I was prepared for a long wait before that first patient should arrive. But my second day in the city, the woman physician who had an office adjoining ours asked me to see a case with her. It was a servant in a fine house next to the home of Roscoe Conklin. As it was a case of varicose ulcers such as I had seen dozens of in the Dispensary clinics, I was able to make a positive diagnosis, and confidently to advise the Doctor as to treatment, for which she was grateful and gave me a dollar and a half—my first fee. This physician was rather pompous, and not well grounded in medicine. She had a fair exterior, an open countenance, and a big, motherly figure, but she did not inspire confidence in me, yet she was kind-hearted and disposed to be friendly. When, some months later, Sister came to visit me, and the Doctor learned that we were sleeping together on that narrow office-chair, she insisted on our using the unused folding-bed in her office.
As a neighbour she was something of a nuisance, for whenever she knew I was alone in my office she would come in and stay the entire evening. I tired of her talk, and soon resorted to subterfuge to rid myself of her: I would open my waiting-room door (which rang a bell whenever the door opened); would pretend to usher someone in, and then try to simulate the conversation of two persons, also moving about the office, rattling instruments, letting water run, and so on. Knowing she could hear some sounds from her office, I hoped she would think I was engaged, and so stay away. Sometimes I would read aloud, so she would think I had someone in there. Perhaps she heard more distinctly than I thought, and saw through my deception. My most serious grudge against her was for trying to destroy my ideal of one of our much-loved New England poets. She had lived in the same city with him and claimed to have been a frequenter in his home, and she met my glowing enthusiasm for him with the rehearsal of gossip about an intrigue between him and some woman friend. I did not believe her story, but it shocked and angered me, and I detested her for mentioning it. I must have been pretty severe, for she grew apologetic and conciliatory, and never afterward talked to me about such things. Her story may or may not have been true, but I smile sadly now at that girl who looked out upon the world with such unbounded faith in humanity; who held such rigid notions of right and wrong; and suffered such painful shocks on finding both good and bad mixed in the same individual.
I had been practising nine days when I received my first office call. The time had seemed very long since that day after my arrival, when Dr. M—— had called me in consultation. I had begun to feel that the waiting time was going to be no joke. But on that momentous day, a working-girl strayed into my office. Listening to her symptoms, I prescribed as carefully as I could, calmly took the seventy-five cents office-fee, and ushered her out in my most professional manner. When the door had closed upon her, I literally danced for joy; the capers I cut would have made an onlooker laugh—or cry, for it had its pathetic side. There was so much at stake; it meant so much to me, to my family, and friends—and here was the beginning! a patient had actually come to me! I had to be careful lest the physicians whose offices were each side of mine should hear my demonstrations. I ran to the mirror and stood on tip-toe (it was hung high for Dr. Wyeth), and looked for sympathy into my own sparkling eyes, and saw my flushed face, and felt half ashamed, and wholly elated, as I nodded and smiled to myself. Then I skipped about the room again, until I remembered my new account-book with its lone entry. Proudly making my second entry, I then recorded in my case-book the patient’s symptoms and my prescription. I do not recall that she ever came again, but hope the bryonia which I gave her for rheumatism helped her as much as her coming helped me.
This was my red-letter day, for scarcely had I become presentable from the elation of that first call when another patient came. I felt like an old hand at the business as I gave her the medicine and carelessly took the office-fee. Although I had had patients for two years in dispensary and hospital, these were the first who had paid me for my services. A check for several months of my present salary, put into my hands this minute, could not produce the elation I felt at receiving those paltry office-fees.