Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Now Wash Your Hands

The best way to treat invalids, I find, is to divert them from their own woes with a story of others worse off than themselves.  My attached friend and amanuensis Ruth Raven, now out of hospital and recovering from her second mastectomy, has begged to hear again the story of Dr Benjamin Isaacs and his misadventure in Tenerife.  Here it is; but first, a preface on the matter of medical handwashing.
 Let me lay down at the outset that Dr Isaacs, though possessed of towering intellect (especially as compared with your humble servant), was not ahead of his time.  As all the world knows, his profession did not even think of washing the hands before ministering to patients until the1840s, and its first exponents- Oliver Wendell Holmes in 1843 and Ignaz Semmelweis in 1847- were roundly laughed at for their pains.  For a history of the practice, and how it was justified by the researches of Pasteur and Lister, let me recommend you this link: http://www.institute-shot.com/hand_washing_by_health_care_providers.htm.
  Nay, Dr Isaacs' dispute with the ship's surgeon arose from the Jewish practice of washing the hands before eating bread, which the surgeon remarked upon with some insulting words, the upshot of which was, 'What, man, I wonder you can be so superstitious! Do you think you can bring back your Temple by playing the priest?'
  Nothing was more calculated to sting Dr Isaacs than this, for he regarded himself not as a religious man, but as one enlightened by the beams of science, and he replied with,
 'I wonder you can be so uncleanly, unless you prefer your bread flavoured with sauce of clyster and poultice.'
  Anyway, to our story.  As usual, you may read more of this in Hetty, or, To Hell with Adam Bede (Ruth Raven) available here: http://www.amazon.com/Hetty-Hell-Adam-Ruth-Raven/dp/1449947271/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1265413392&sr=1-1
The picture appears by courtesy of the Wellcome Trust's estimable library.


CHAPTER XXV: A LITTLE POT LEADS TO NIGHTMARES

After berating me over the matter of the earrings, Dr Isaacs was the next of us to behave foolishly, and in a manner that almost cost him his life. Our last port of call before Liverpool was to be the Island of Tenerife, and our captain assembled everyone on deck and warned us that though we would be there for a good week- there being some repairs to make to the ship before we set forth- we should, if we were wise, remain on board as much as possible, because the local people were not fond of the English; however, he said, he could not bring himself to forbid us, for, he said, he had no doubt that some of the more learned (by which I was sure he meant Dr Isaacs) would wish to ‘take a look-see’ at the remarkable University, surely the wonder of the island.
  Well, on the very morning we were to visit this University, Dr Isaacs came to tell me, quite abruptly, that he purposed another journey, but one on which I could not accompany him, because, said he, no accident must befall me and my unborn child. I was a little angry at this, because it meant that I would have to sit reading or enamelling in my cabin all day, since we had agreed that I would not walk abroad without him.
He explained that he intended to hire a mule and travel more than twenty miles to the south, sleeping out overnight if need be, and all to see some ancient piles of stone that were called the Pyramids, in imitation of those in Egypt. He wanted to lay eyes on these, he said, before he died, and if I could spare him for one day he would be sure to lay on some entertaining diversion for me on the morrow. I retorted rather pettishly that I was not a child that required compensatory treats for every trifling annoyance, and that he might do as he pleased. I was sorry when he went away, for I thought he looked a little crestfallen and rather older than his usual appearance.
  I decided that I would show that I was not angry with him by making him a small keepsake of our voyage, so I took one of the watch covers with which Mr Fagin had provided me and enamelled it so that it exactly resembled a seashell I had found on the beach at Rio de Janeiro. I spent a long time over this task, and when I was finished my anger really had melted away.
  I did not expect Dr Isaacs back before nightfall, so it was with surprise that I saw him staggering up the gang plank around midday. I wondered if he was drunk, but such a condition was so far from his usual character that I dismissed the idea at once. My old friend was ill. I helped him to his cabin and made him lie down upon his bunk, while I plied him with cold, refreshing drinks and made shift to mop his head, which was sweating profusely. I could get no sense out of him, so ran post haste to find the ship’s surgeon. This man was of little help, for he would not even come and look at the poor Doctor: ‘This is a case of Physician, heal thyself’’, he laughed callously. I gathered that the two had recently had a professional falling out over the practice of hand washing, which Dr Isaacs advocated, and which the surgeon derided as a foolish superstitious ritual.
  I went away in tears, but one of the sailors, a little bandy-legged, cross-eyed man called Poole, came to me and offered to help, ‘For I think I know what this is’, says he. Indeed, he needed but one look at Dr Isaacs to form his opinion, as follows:
  ‘Do not be afeared, Madam, for all he has had a close shave. There are in the market place some terrible scoundrels who pretend friendliness towards Englishmen, whom they hate. They offer them to drink, perhaps some tea, or chocolate, or the like, while they discuss the price of some trinket they have for sale. Only, instead of selling him the trinket, they put some stupefying drug into his drink, and either drag off the wretched victim to a secret place and there make an end of him, or they hold him to ransom in their mountain lair. What has happened, in my opinion, is that the Doctor suspected foul play and discreetly made his way out of the villains’ clutches and so, with great difficulty, got back to his friends. He will be all right, Madam, so long as you keep him quiet and comfortable and keep giving him harmless drinks. I will run to the cook for some tonic water for him, and you may call upon me to do the poor gentleman any service you wish.’
I shed even more tears as I wrung his scrawny hand in gratitude, and for the first time in my life felt my heart bursting with pure affection for a man who had no physical charms to speak of. How many more tears I shed when I learned that, before leaving the ship, Dr Isaacs had charged Poole, at whatever cost, to look after me and, as far as possible, befriend my mission, should he not return.
  The Doctor lay on his bunk in the grip of terrible visions and waking dreams for two full days, and he had a miserable week of it thereafter, for, as he said, his mind kept playing tricks upon him and showing him, over and over, the scene of his downfall. He had, after taking his leave of me, wandered around the market, and, being much interested in the little ceramic pots made by the Indians of that place- for they do not possess the potter’s wheel, and make everything by hand- he thought he would acquire one for me as a kind of peace offering (How this stung me!); only, the stall holder invited him to take chocolate with him, and thereafter all was as the sailor Poole had divined.
‘I thought that something was amiss,’ said the Doctor, ‘because the merchant seemed to be watching me intently all the while, as if waiting for something to happen; and there were two other fellows with him that I had not noticed before. It is fortunate that I have some knowledge of Spanish, for I heard them say that it would take a second cup to finish the job. So, taking advantage of the instant in which they were pouring it out, I simply took to my heels and ran. They did not expect so lively a pair of legs on such a one as me, but I was running for my life, and as I conceived it, for the success of your mission. Indeed, I thought a heart attack might finish me off before the drug, and you saw in what state I got on board.’
  We swore that from then on we would not run ourselves into unnecessary peril, but would garner up all our resources against the day when they would be needed most, and, except where modesty forbade, we would stand shoulder to shoulder at all times.

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