CHAPTER LIV.
THE OPIUM PILL BOX.
The statements of the following chapter will include a confession of one of the principal faults of my life,—a fault, moreover, which, as a physician, I ought to have guarded against with the most assiduous and unwearied care. For no man more than the medical man, is bound to let his light shine—especially in the matter of general temperance, in such a manner that others may be benefited by it.
When, in the beginning of my medical career, I attempted to establish a temperance society, though I was exceedingly free from the charge of using distilled liquors, according to the tenor and spirit of the pledge, yet exposed, as I was, to colds, and delicate in constitution, and above all, particularly liable, in the daily routine of business, to temptation, I was yet one of those who lay aside one stimulus and retain or resort to another. I did not, indeed, use my substitute with much freedom, at first. The example daily before me, which was alluded to in Chapter LII, was sufficient, one would think, to deter me from excess; and so it proved. All I did for some time, whenever I had been peculiarly exposed and feared I had taken cold, was to go and swallow a small pill—say about a grain—of opium.
But as usually happens in such cases, though the pill seemed to remove all tendency to cold, or in other words to cure me for the time, the necessity for recurring to it became more and more frequent and imperious, till I was, at length, a confirmed opium taker. And yet—strange to say it—all the while I regarded myself as a rigid temperance man; nay, I was a violent opposer of the use even of opium as a daily stimulus, in the case of everybody but myself. My apology was—and here was the ground of self-deception—that I only used it as a medicine, or rather as a medical means of prevention.
It is, however, quite obvious to my own apprehension now, that a substance is hardly entitled to the name of medicine, in any ordinary sense of the term, which is used nearly or quite every day. Yet to this stage of opium taking I soon arrived. Nay, I went even much farther than this, and was, at length, pretty well established in the wretched habit of using this poisonous drug three times a day.
In the summer of 1830, while under the full habitual influence of opium, I had a slight attack of dysentery. It even went so far as to derange all my habits, and to break in, among the rest, upon my opium taking. Opium or laudanum was, indeed, included in the prescription of my physician,—for I did not wholly rely on my own judgment in the case,—but as a habitual daily stimulus, at certain fixed hours, it was, of course, omitted. As I began to recover, however, my old desire for the opium pill began to recur, at the accustomed former hours, and with all its wonted imperiousness.
In a moment of reflection, reason resumed her throne, and the inquiry came up, whether I should ever again wear the chain which had been temporarily loosened. After a short debate, it was decided in the negative. But a second question soon came up, whether I could keep my resolution. This was a matter of serious inquiry, and it caused a somewhat lengthy mental discussion.
During the discussion a new thought struck me. It was a child's thought, perhaps; and yet it was interesting, and not to be despised for its simplicity and childishness. It was that I would take my opium, what I had in the house, and after carefully enclosing it in my pill box, would make use of the box as a nucleus for the twine I was daily using. "When I am inclined to break my resolution," thought I, "nothing shall be done till I have unwound the ball of twine. I shall thus gain a little time for reflection; and perhaps before I come to the opium, I may permit reason to return and to mount the throne. The trial shall, at all events, be made."