“There has been a great increase of medical men of late years, but upon my life, diseases have increased in proportion.”
The British and Foreign Quarterly Journal—the leading advocate of drug medication—thus writes:—
“This mode of treating disease (Hydropathy) is unquestionably far from inert, and most opposed to the cure of diseases, by the undisturbed processes of nature. It in fact perhaps affords the very best evidence we possess of the curative power of art, and is unquestionably when rationally [[7]]regulated a most effective mode of treatment in many diseases. Still it puts in a striking light, if not exactly the curative powers of nature, at least the possibility—nay, facility—with which all the ordinary instruments of medical cure, drugs, may be dispensed with. If so many and such various diseases get well entirely without drugs, under one special mode of treatment, is it not more than probable, that a treatment consisting almost exclusively of drugs may be often of non-effect—sometimes of injurious effect?”
Dr. Headland, in his prize essay on the action of medicines on the system, thus writes:—
“On no question perhaps have scientific men differed more than on the theory of the action of medicines. Either facts, essentially opposed and incompatible, have been adduced by the disagreeing parties, or which is nearly as common, the same fact has received two distinct and opposite interpretations.”
Such quotations as the above, which might be multiplied ad infinitum, by any student of medical lore, show that enquiry is abroad amongst the medical profession, and that some at least of its members are dissatisfied with the truth of the system which would consider drug medication as an essential instrument in the cure of disease.
The following remarks by Dr. Maclæoud, contained in a letter written by him to Professor Simpson of Edinburgh, show at least, that if the lay public place confidence in allopathic drugging, they place their faith in a system which does not command the confidence of physicians themselves.
“Formerly there were several wards in the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, of which three Fellows of the Royal College of Physicians had the charge. One physician had the top ward, another the middle ward, and a third the low ward. It happened that on the same day, three young persons of nearly the same age, ill of typhus fever, were admitted into the hospital. The disease was of equal severity in each, and the stage of complaint the same in all. What was the treatment pursued in those three cases, by the three Fellows of the College? Of course, it should have been the same, at least, if the system be correct; for the physicians in question would choose the best. But, sir, it was not the same. He in the top ward bled his patient with lancet and leeches. He in the middle ward treated his patient with drastic purgatives. He in the low ward, again, gave whiskey, wine, and opiates. What was the result of such deplorable freaks? I refer you to the statistic book; I have no doubt you will find it there!”
“In the University formerly, two professors used to lecture, on alternate days, on clinical medicine. It happened once that each had, at the same time, under his care an acute case of pericarditis. The professor who lectured on his case on Monday night, said in substance, as follows:—
“Gentlemen.—As to the treatment of this disease, it has been the practice to give large doses of mercury, so as to bring the constitution under its action, and to effect this as rapidly as possible, small quantities of opium are usually combined with it. The practice I, however, believe [[8]]to be erroneous; for I have observed the progress of the disease unchecked, even during profuse salivation. The most efficient remedy—in fact our sheet-anchor—in this disease is tartar emetic. You will have noticed the large doses I have given of this remedy, and yet the patient seems not to suffer from it. In fact, the constitution in this disease, as in some others, has a remarkable tolerance for tartar emetic.”
“When the lecture was finished, I left the hall fancying I had heard some great truth, and knew better than an hour before how to save life. On Wednesday evening, during the same week, in the same hall, and to the same students, the other professor lectured. The lecture was devoted to the acute case of pericarditis under his care in the hospital. After describing the case, and giving a sketch of the character and progress of the disease, he spoke in substance, as follows:—
“Gentlemen.—It is a remarkable thing that there should be any difference in regard to the mode of treatment to be pursued in a disease such as this, I believe it is the Italian and French schools which advocate so very strongly the employment of tartar emetic; but I would strongly urge you to put no confidence in this remedy, for if you do so, you will lean on a broken reed. Our sheet-anchor in this disease is mercury; under the action of which you must bring the patient as soon and as freely as you possibly can—even bleeding is of little importance in comparison with the use of mercury. The two combined, i.e., mercury and blood-letting is, of course, best; but at all events use mercury, and never trust to tartar emetic.
“Thus doctors differ and the patient dies.”
As in the theatrical world a peep behind the scenes destroys the illusion of the piece, so in the real world such revelations as the foregoing, are well calculated to stagger thoughtful minds, and to shake to the centre a blind and unreasoning faith in the allopathic system.
Does not the reflection suggest itself on reading such a revelation as the above—since it is impossible that the practice of both these learned professors can be right, is it not possible that the practice of both may be wrong?