Nooks and Corners / being the companion volume to 'From Kitchen to Garret'

by J. E. Panton

[A] Since the above was written a law has been passed to make the notification of disease compulsory in London; so there is one step already made in advance.

It is the selfishness of other people that spreads so much disease, and therefore the law should force people to be more considerate; then disease will be stamped out undoubtedly, and we can exist without the many qualms and dreads which harass us now, and certainly go far to make life anything but worth living.

Now, I think if I had an infectious complaint in the house my first idea would be to keep people out of it. I should place a placard on the door, and then leave folks to do as they chose in the matter. I should keep the rest of the household to the grounds and garden, and I should—- much as I should hate it—stay as much at home as I possibly could. Of course the usual means of disinfection would be largely used; still no one should run the risk of giving the complaint to any other soul.

The doctor would be the person to say what is infectious and what is not, but, despite the ‘Lancet,’ I am quite certain measles and mumps cannot be carried and cannot be given to another, unless by the person who actually has the complaint on him. About scarlet fever, small-pox, and diphtheria there can be no doubt, but typhoid cannot be carried from one to the other, although typhus most undoubtedly may be. But in any case the doctor is the person to apply to, and if we have his consent we can go about the world as usual; only we should always tell our friends what is the matter, and if they object to us we must not be offended with them. They are quite right to object, and we should not resent their care for their own. We should not feel happy if we handed on the complaint, and what should we experience if it had a fatal termination? I, for one, cannot imagine.

There is absolutely no place on earth which requires so much good breeding to inhabit or arrange for properly as does the sick room; therefore I trust I may be forgiven if I write rather fully on the matter, more especially as this book is coming now to an end, and I shall never write any more on the ever-fascinating subject of the home, and I want to say a word to the patient.

Remember, however bad it is for you to be ill, it is fifty times worse for those who have to see you suffer, and that you must even at your worst think about that and remember other people. Do not make their anxiety greater by refusing food or medicine, or by disobeying your doctor or nurse; for the time give yourself entirely into their hands, and do not refuse or kick against their remedies, their rules and regulations. Be absolutely calm, absolutely quiet, and, above all, if you want to get well do not lose your hold on life if you can, and don’t fret or become terrified. Fear and fretting are a doctor’s worst foes—almost worse than disobedience. If you can recollect that whatever is is best, and that you will recover if it is better that you should, you will have a thousand chances that the irritable invalid can never have, and, at all events, if you do die you will die courageously and resignedly, and not screaming and kicking like a naughty child does whose nurse fetches it away to bed before it thinks it is ready to retire to rest. Its nurse knows best; and so does God, and if you are fetched ten chances to one your work is done, and you can retire from the scene gracefully even if you cannot feel you are quite glad to go.

I am certain that the mind has a great deal to do with one’s body from a small experience of my own when once I was saved from being very ill by a mere exercise of will, rendered necessary by a sudden shock received when one of my children was only two days old. My dear old nurse was in my room at 12, and at 7 she was dead in the room next to mine, and I knew all about it. There were the two eldest children—who were five and three—running about calling for ‘Nan,’ from whom they had never been separated five minutes since the hour they were born. I had a new housemaid. I had seen in the looking-glass the monthly nurse drinking brandy out of the bottle, and told Nan of this, and I was absolutely alone as far as friends were concerned. Could any situation be worse? And yet before I slept I had arranged for the children to go to London, for the funeral to take place soon, and for the friends to be told. And then began the struggle. My doctor was confined to the house with bronchitis; circumstances made his partner impossible; the nearest medical man on whom one could depend was fourteen miles away, and I knew I must not be ill; and all that wretched night I kept saying this to myself, repeating who I was, where I was, and what had happened, until I felt I was master of the situation. Surely had I given in then I should have had a fever; as it was, I occasionally felt my head was loose and swimming round the room by itself, and it was only by repeating to myself that this was impossible that I kept off the delusion, and after a day or two I was nearly well, or at all events was not ill in the accepted sense of the word, though my dear old doctor nearly wept when I told him what I had endured, and never could understand to his dying day why I had not had a serious illness, which I undoubtedly must have had had I not staved it off in the manner I have just described. Therefore, I am convinced those patients have the best chance of recovering who are quiet, obedient, and who, furthermore, try their best to live, and believe that there is something worth living for.

And now a few words on that saddest of all subjects, a death, and I must devote my last chapter to more cheerful subjects—namely, how best to get strong and well again once we have emerged from the sick room, and are pronounced fit and able to go for a change.

When death has actually occurred I would strongly advocate that those who have loved and nursed the dead may prepare the body for the last resting-place. It can be gently washed and attired in the clean night-dress, and the hands can be crossed on the breast. Someone who can be trusted—not a mere hireling—should be present when the last measurements are taken; then the room should be at once turned into a mortuary chamber, the bed hung with white, candles lighted head and foot, which should not go out until the funeral day, and fresh flowers should be kept there; these should be changed every single day; and, furthermore, the windows should be left a little open, and on no account should the dead person be left unwatched for a moment until the coffin is screwed down; this should never be done until there is no doubt that death has ensued, and then the sooner the funeral is the better; though I trust some day cremation may be universal, then there can be no dread of the awful fate of one who is buried alive. That ought to be made impossible in all cases by the doctor performing some simple surgical operation—I think it is the dividing of some artery in the arm.

If the dead person has been attached to any particular church in his or her life-time the coffin should be placed in that church the night before the funeral, so that the last night above ground the body may rest in that hallowed spot. Of course it should be watched there, and the candles and flowers should be arranged as in the mortuary chamber, and the first part of the service should be read there; not by a stranger, but by the family priest of whom I have spoken before; and then when the ceremony is over no one but the clergyman should return to the house with the mourners, who should separate and go to their own rooms. There should be no general family meal that day at least; certainly there should be no gathering even of relations and friends round the dinner-table. I have experienced more than one of these awful meals, and I can truthfully say that there is nothing more terrible on earth; people must talk, they cannot remain silent, they must eat and drink, and the pseudo-festivity and the endeavour to keep off and avoid the subject are so truly ghastly, that under no circumstances can I understand such a thing can be in any way necessary in the least. Surely as unnecessary is also the reading of the will. What concerns the public can be told the public, the lawyers should manage the rest. Under no circumstances should the display of evil passions and disappointments be allowed that almost inevitably follows this institution.