The narcotic drug problem

by Ernest S. Bishop

Having been taught that it was only a habit that required self will and force of character to abandon—both of which I knew I possessed—I was not particularly worried, as I had planned a long vacation when summer came, which I would devote to the accomplishment of my purpose. But for certain unavoidable reasons the vacation became impossible, and the next winter found me with added responsibilities.

During all this time I had constantly struggled against the increase of the drug. If under great pressure I was obliged to take an additional amount, as soon as it was over I began to reduce. There were occasions when I succeeded in taking only a fraction of my accustomed dose, but if a call came, I was either obliged to refuse it, or resort to the needle.

While naturally I had taken no one into my confidence, the habit had been so insidious and gradual that I had failed to realize how necessary it was that it should not be suspected. I did not consider myself an addict and only awaited a propitious occasion to relieve myself of it, but that winter I awoke to the realization that some radical step must be taken or my professional reputation would be damaged.

In the midst of this perplexity I developed an attack of la grippe and judging from past experience I felt that I would be confined to the house for some time, so resolved to take advantage of the enforced rest and abandon the use of the drug.

It was a hazardous and probably unwise decision, but I reasoned it was for the best. At the end of three weeks, after days and nights of physical and mental torture, I was able to leave my bed, freed from the specter that had haunted me, but for the time a wretched type of humanity. Four weeks of rest in the country enabled me to return to my practice, and although the heart attacks mercifully remained in abeyance, it was only by sheer force of will that I could accomplish my routine work, resting every spare moment that was afforded me, often refusing calls.

At the end of six months my work had so increased that the heart symptoms began to trouble me. The situation was desperate. Besides a wife and two children depending upon me I had other obligations, and was still in debt from my illness. I was unfitted for any other form of business.

I shall not enter into a discussion of the ethics of my act, but after sleepless nights of deliberation I reached the decision to return to the remedy that alone would enable me to attend to my duties, knowing all that it involved, but hoping that by constant vigilance to lessen the baneful effects of the drug until some day when I should be free to leave off work and again be cured.

During the years that followed, this object was ever before me, always fighting against an increase, devoting my vacations always to the same cause. In a measure I succeeded. I never progressed to extremely large doses, and I watched for and combatted any possible symptoms of peculiarity or degeneration that are supposed to obtain with the addict. I felt no sense of moral inferiority or degradation, nor did I deplete my strength with useless anticipation of dreaded possibilities. I would do all that lay in my power to preserve myself and the future lay in the hands of fate.

During these years success came to me. My clientele grew both in size and character. Positions of trust were conferred upon me, such as the examinership for some of the most important insurance companies, presidency of the County Medical Society, etc. I was elected visiting physician to two of our largest hospitals, and for some years did special work for the federal government, the nature of which for obvious reasons I do not care to mention.

In mentioning these facts, I do so with no vainglorious idea of boasting, but simply to record the history of my career. At the same time I used sometimes to ponder over the anomaly of my position—realizing with what horrified promptness the public would strip me of my honors, and transform its patronage and good will to contempt and pity, if it suspected the truth, although from its continued patronage my work was evidently entirely satisfactory. Even my intimate friends would shrink from me if the truth were known. Yet my philosophy and natural optimism sustained me.