The following day, as I walked down the aisle of No. —, I realized how hard it would be to fulfill the condition the doctor had made for my visit. The men were undergoing “treatment”; some held the handles of a galvanic battery in their hands, while their bodies squirmed and twisted, but never for one instant did they drop the handles; others had their feet on steel discs in tubs of water, while others underwent electrical treatment in different ways. The doctor moved from bed to bed, inquiring with simulated solicitude as to the state of each patient, offering a word of encouragement to some poor fellow who writhed under the current that passed through hands and feet.
“Dat’s right, my lad,” the doctor would say encouragingly, “just keep your feet on de disc.” Perhaps it did not occur to the good doctor that the man was powerless to take his feet off the disc! To another he would say: “Dere, now, my lad, we’ll soon have you in perfec health again”—and I would wonder how the strong, rosy-cheeked lad would look when in perfect health.
I was not surprised to hear two or three lads inform the doctor that they thought they felt well enough to go back to their battalions again. The doctor would always agree with them. One fellow said, within my hearing: “He might as well give us the chair at once!”
I remember coming out of the ward that first day, and when I was out of view, I stood in the lane and laughed and laughed. The fat doctor had been so funny, and also the poor fellows, squirming and twisting under treatment that was not at all necessary for them.
I made many subsequent visits to No. —. Whenever I would feel tired out from the more serious work of visiting the wounded, I would step down the lane and listen for awhile to Doctor “Boots” passing up and down the aisle giving his electrical treatment.
Chapter XXXIV
Transfusion
Although the little wooden chapel called Church of Our Lady, Help of Christians was nearer No. 7, I always said Mass in the chapel at No. 1. It was wonderfully edifying there in that little marquee chapel. I don’t know who had had it erected, for it was standing when I went to No. 1, but I do recall the devout congregations of walking wounded in their hospital suits of light-blue fleeced wool; the hospital orderlies who came so reverently; the white-veiled blue-clad nurses who came in large numbers. Two Masses were said on Sunday so as to accommodate the different shifts of Sisters, and every Sunday evening there was Benediction and a short sermon.
I remember one morning noticing that the hospital orderly who served the Mass trembled while answering the opening responses. He was a tall, well-built young fellow with light hair, and usually his face had the glow of excellent health; but when he passed me the cruets, I noticed that his face had almost the pallor of death, and that although it was a cold morning in early autumn little beads of perspiration stood out on his white forehead.
After Mass I asked him if he were not well. Then he told me quietly that he felt extremely weak, having given a quantity of his blood just a few days before to save the life of a wounded soldier who was dying from loss of blood. The wounded man was now recovering. It was not the first time he had given his blood, and, he said, as he smiled painfully and with the appearance of great weakness, he felt that it would not be the last time.
As he moved about slowly and wearily, extinguishing the candles and covering the altar, I felt a great admiration for this generous lad, and I thought truly there are other heroic ways of giving one’s blood than shedding it on the battlefield! It was quite a common occurrence in different hospitals to go through the process of transfusion of blood. The most necessary condition was that the blood of the donor be adaptable to the system of the patient.