Now all this may be very exasperating when it is absolutely necessary that one should have a place upon which to put a sign to let the world know that she is ready to try her skill upon suffering humanity; but it has such a strongly ludicrous side that I could not be provoked in spite of all the fatigue and disappointment of wandering over the city when, with aching limbs, I commenced the search afresh each morning, with the same prospect of success.
Finally, in a moderate-sized house, I was admitted by an introductory letter from an agent. The lady was kind and pleasant, entered into conversation with me and informed me that a cousin of hers had drawn her attention to the fact that women studied medicine in Cleveland. On further talk, she spoke of one who was especially liked by her cousin through the interest which Ralph Waldo Emerson took in her. And thus I found that this lady was a cousin of Mrs. Emerson, of Hudson, Ohio.
Of course, my heart was delighted to find a cultured woman not only interested in me and my profession but who was also willing to have me become a member of her household, if—her husband agreed to such an arrangement. Alas! in a few days came a letter in which she regretted that her husband could not reconcile himself to a woman doctor. He feared all sorts of annoyances should he take such a step as to have a woman doctor go in and out of his house. At any rate, he could not bear the thought of having the sign of a woman physician on his house.
Such was the horror that beset every one, that woman would disgrace decency and undertake abhorred practice. The name of “Madame Restelle” was on every one’s tongue as typifying the “female physician.” She was then the leading abortionist, of whom a prominent lawyer said, when Dr. Blackwell and I called upon him to see if something could not be done to stop her in her vile career, “She is a social necessity, and she will be protected by rich and influential personages.” However, I may here remark that after many years of agitation, her infamous business succeeded in placing her and some of her disciples in prison, and, eventually, she killed herself by drowning in the spacious bathtub of the extravagantly luxurious house on Fifth Avenue, where she resided under her real name.
Thus time passed, and I could find no abode. My lack of success was similar to that of Dr. Blackwell who had finally been obliged to rent a house, and she now proposed that I should join her at her home, she letting me have the back parlor for office purposes. Thus I was able to arrange for office work as well as for general practice. Arrangements were concluded and, on April 17, I established myself with her, yet independent of her, in business.
Still, small as was Dr. Blackwell’s practice, this association was of great benefit to me. Her household consisted of her relatives and was headed by an older sister and her mother, a fine, cultivated lady. Antoinette Brown Blackwell and her husband joined us just before their oldest daughter was expected, and there also came Lucy Stone and her husband, Henry Blackwell. In fact we were a delightful family, suffering more or less from social ostracism but happy in spirit, and feeling far above the ordinary run of mankind in the belief of our superiority in thought and aim.
I love to remember the friendship which developed between Dr. Elizabeth Blackwell and myself when, wearied and disappointed in waiting for patients who seldom appeared, we renewed our courage by getting temporarily away from the field of struggle. On Sundays, we took long, long walks in Staten Island, in Jersey Heights, yes, even as far as Hackensack, watching the budding trees, the inspiring scenery and the glorious sunsets, and renewing our faith in our calling as physicians. And we discussed all kinds of plans as to how to become of use to our fellow men and to ourselves.
[These must have been memorable walks, for Dr. Blackwell refers to them again and again in later life in her letters from England to Dr. Zakrzewska, recalling “the picture which is hung up in memory, the dark-haired young physician with whom I used to walk on Weehawken Heights.”]
Alas! money was wanting. To resume even the little dispensary work of two years previous was impossible, for the reëstablishment of that called for a sum of five hundred dollars and this we could not raise. Meanwhile, we tried to get opportunities to improve our practical knowledge by endeavoring to get admission into dispensaries or hospitals. Everywhere we met objections, and everywhere we found denial.
Many high-stationed professors and physicians to whom Dr. Blackwell had applied were willing, but the general practitioners objected, just as remains the situation at present in most instances. The fear that women doctors would diminish their practice was the real cause of their objection; although the denials were usually expressed as the moral conviction that women could not take any serious responsibility, or, if they did, that they would unsex themselves. However, a German physician, Dr. Aigner, and a Scotch physician, Dr. McCready, occasionally allowed me to accompany them to their respective hospital and dispensary.