Medical men tell us that, in such cases, the waste in the body exceeds the nutritive supply; but this assertion may be made with equal truth in regard to diseases of a different order, and, unfortunately, increase of the nutritive supply does not necessarily cure nervous exhaustion; it is the actual nerve-waste that we have to put a stop to. Even where a patient has purposely starved herself, mere feeding up does but bring her back to the point at which she began to starve. And if we could know the truth (if we would even try to know it), we should probably find that loathing of the food, and incapability to assimilate it, were the beginning of the seeming craze which, singularly enough, seems to afford so much amusement to the average nurse. We therefore still have the original disease to tackle. A long series of observations have convinced me, that though this original disease is not often satisfactorily cured, it can be cured, and ought to be cured. The reasons of so much failure seem to me to be evident enough, and later on I hope to state them fully.
Let me give some interesting and instructive instances of failure.
A few months ago I was told that a remarkable cure had been effected by means of a well-known treatment, in which isolation, massage, and electricity were the chief agents. I accepted an invitation to meet the patient—a lady—at a friend’s house, and on asking for details of the case, I was told that she had been for years prostrate on her couch, but had been entirely restored to health and activity by the above treatment.
At the time appointed, I went to my friend’s house and was introduced to this “show-case.” What I saw was a lady manifestly suffering from severe nervous exhaustion. The strained expression of her face was sufficient evidence of mental fatigue; her attitude indicated bodily fatigue. Her voice and manner betrayed a total lack of the energy and elasticity that distinguish persons of her sanguine temperament when in good health, and it was evident that continuous conversation was trying to her in the extreme.
I talked with her for a few minutes, refraining from asking direct questions. She readily informed me that she was undoubtedly cured by the treatment she had recently undergone; that, though the massage was very painful, she had greatly benefited by it; that she had been unable to stir off her couch before undergoing it, but that she had now returned to ordinary life, and was doing in all things as ordinary people did. All I can say is, I am very sorry for ordinary people. She seemed anxious to impress upon me the fact of her having had a real illness, and not a fanciful illness; little knowing that at that moment I was wondering at the strange fancies of those who could imagine such a miserable invalid to be well. She ended by informing me triumphantly that she was able to walk—how far do you think? Ten miles? Five miles? No, not even one mile. This supposed convalescent—this “show-case”—was able to drag herself exactly half-a-mile; that is to say, if she rested on a seat half-way—and she was unmistakably done up at the end of it.
And this was the result of paying from ten to twenty guineas a week for a couple of months!
I ascertained afterwards, on closer inquiry, that the poor lady was still weak and poorly in the opinion of unbiassed friends, but that her doctor and nurse had treated her as if she were very fussy, and as if the thing to be done was to cure her of her fancies. But there was little need to tell me so: she was so evidently ashamed of ever having been ill at all.
Why can it not be honestly recognised that a young woman who is too weak to walk five miles, and chat with her friends afterwards without over-fatigue, is in an unsatisfactory state of health; and that a young lady who cannot walk half-a-mile without betraying, in spite of herself, symptoms of nervous exhaustion, is in a most dangerous and alarming state of health, and should at once be prevented from fatiguing herself further, lest she should either die of nervous prostration (failure of the heart’s action is, I believe, the polite name for this mode of making our exit), or lest she should fall a prey to one or other of the many forms of disease which are apt to attack weak women?
To a person of common-sense, the bodily fatigue of painful massage, and the mental fatigue of being regarded as an imbecile, would hardly seem conducive to cure in cases where repose of mind and body are urgently needed; but in terror of that foe to our progress, the fixed idea, one is careful to leave a corner for even the remotest of possibilities.
How this poor lady originally became a victim to the modern malady I do not know. What happened after it had developed itself is easy enough to comprehend. She had dragged herself about in misery till she could drag herself about no more, and then she had taken to her couch. Want of fresh air and exercise soon started a whole host of minor ills, which, though painful and annoying, were less dangerous than continued over-fatigue. These ailments were ineffectually doctored, one after another, in a variety of ways. Then came a physician who carried her bodily off to town, cured all the small ailments at once, and by means of the strong moral influence brought to bear upon the patient, persuaded her that lying in bed and having ailments was exceedingly selfish and sinful, besides being inhuman to those about her. It was then impressed upon her that she was cured, and she was warned against falling into sin any more. The patient actually found some of her ills cured, and persuaded herself that the remainder would yield in time.