Curiosities of Medical Experience

by J. G. Millingen

The power of nature in the cure of diseases has been acknowledged by the most experienced and wise physicians. Stahl, in his dissertation, “De Medicina sine Medico,” perhaps exaggerated the influence of this faculty. Bordeu maintains that out of ten patients, two-thirds are cured without assistance, and come within the circle of all those minor ailments to which flesh is the constant heir. The illustrious Boerhaave doubted whether the successful practice of the small number of able physicians was a compensation for the evils that arose from the errors of the ignorant; and, in this sad calculation, he seems disposed to think that it would have been better for mankind that the science of medicine had never existed.

All these deductions are both unjust and unwise; for, as I have already said, if physicians only possessed the means of affording relief, their mission upon earth is of the utmost importance. At the same time, while we watch the efforts of nature, it is our duty to rouse her energies when they become torpid, or to check inordinate action which would soon exhaust her power. Asclepiades very truly called the expectant practice of medicine “a contemplation of death.” The powers of nature may be, and not inaptly, compared to those of the swimmer; however skilled in the art of natation, and able under ordinary circumstances to baffle an adverse tide, are we not to hasten to his succour, when we find that he is borne away by an inevitable current, or deprived by a cramp, of the power of stemming the stream?

We are also willing to forget, that the turbulence of passions, the “wear and tear” of life, by excesses or irregularities, gradually tend to render the “medicinal power” of nature of little or no avail; and it has been truly said, that had we no cooks, we perhaps might not have needed physicians. Man in fact, in a high state of civilization, seems determined to counteract all the efforts both of nature and of art to relieve him from the manifold curses of intemperance; and it is fortunate that his own feelings of gradual decay prompt him more energetically to a reform in his habits, than the most persuasive language his physician could employ.

In this illiberal view of the profession, how often do we lose sight of hereditary transmissions—heir-looms of disease—ingrafting misery on the variegated woof of our destinies—germs of fatal maladies which we bring into the world—a scourge on our posterity!—and yet, strange to say, our vain self-estimation blinds us in the contemplation of this doom—for the gratification of our desires, we bring forth a fearful generation—scrofulous, insane! Nay, we glory in the smiling offspring blooming around us—heedless, that the very roses we admire on their transparent cheeks, the coral hue that tinges their lips, are typical of flowers scattered on a grave, and the joyful beams of their bright yet languid looks are but the harbingers of the smile of death—the last kind look on earthly things.—And the physician is expected to arrest the hand of Providence—to eradicate germs struck before birth!

It must also be observed, that many of our maladies are, in fact, reactions of nature, endeavouring to overcome other affections—a struggle for harmonious unity—for healthy equilibrium. Thus do we see a burning fever, tending to cast upon the surface exanthematic eruptions—a febrile reaction which we call critical, and which too often, like a political crisis, destroys in fruitless endeavours to save. “Si natura non moveat, move, tu, motu ejus” was an ancient axiom; but how often, in seeking to trim the expiring lamp of life, do we not extinguish the last vital spark!

In regard to the influence of medicine on population, can it be expected, that when the most fatal pestilences do not thin it, the most erroneous medical practice can be more destructive? And, if nine-tenths of cholera, or pestiferated patients perish, on the other hand, nine-tenths of other cases of a less serious character are cured without medical intervention; and possibly, the chief study of a physician should be not to produce a more obstinate disease by the means he employs to cure an affection less formidable. Late years have proved that the effects of mercury were far more dreadful than the disease it was supposed to eradicate.

In the animadversions that are accumulated upon the physician, an insidious comparison to his disadvantage, has been made with the utility of the surgeon—a utility which man is compelled, however reluctantly, to acknowledge, since it is evident to his most gross senses—an amputated limb—a reduced luxation—are before his eyes, while the favourable changes operated on a morbid condition of the body are not self-evident, and can only be recognised by sound and unbiassed judgment. In this illiberal view, it is forgotten that the mere operative surgeon is nothing more than a mechanical agent—a butcher could perform the same operation with his rude knives and saws as the chirurgeon with his refined and improved instruments; it is the judgment that we look to, and the skill in attending to the general health of the patient, to bring him to a perfect cure; in these functions, of much more importance than the dexterity of the hand, the surgeon clearly assumes the duties of the physician; and it is not possible for a man to excel in one part of the profession without being conversant with the other; a surgeon must be a sound anatomist, and an observant physiologist—without the knowledge of these fundamental sciences, a surgeon and a physician might be compared to the bungler who attempted to repair a watch, without a previous acquaintance with its intricate machinery.

Let us hope that the mischievous distinction between surgery and medicine may soon become an obsolete prejudice, that was never founded upon reason, but simply based upon ambitious lucre. Let us hope that the graduate of an university will not conceive it beneath his dignity to save a fellow-creature’s life by breathing a vein, and not esteem a vain and pompous piece of parchment an immunity from humane feelings and philanthropic duties.

As good often results from apparent evil, the converse must also be frequently admitted. That much evil has occurred from errors in medical doctrine is unfortunately but too true, yet this evil has never attained the extent which is generally supposed. I have already alluded to the curative powers of nature, ever tending, while still enjoying a portion even of their energies, to repel obnoxious agents—this power has saved the lives of many; and indeed, when we daily witness the excesses committed by the sensualist and the drunkard with apparent impunity, although exposed to destructive agencies more powerful than the generality of medicinal substances, we must come to the conclusion that the kitchen and the cellar are, at least, as formidable as the officinal preparations of the pharmacopolist.

That the physician, guided by experience and sound observation, is able, in very many cases to afford relief, must even be admitted by the most hostile depreciator of his science, who refuses to admit that he possesses the power of curing. This simple admission of daily facts, must entitle him to some degree of weight in our confidence, whatever may be our sceptical view of his doctrines.