[Footnote 29: In a badly vitiated atmosphere _inaction_ is the only palliative; muscular exercise causes a demand for an increased supply of oxygen, and increases the amount of carbonic acid to be eliminated, neither of which conditions can be met except by means of pure air.]
[Footnote 30: See note 1 in Appendix, p. 275.]
The best illustration of the natural means of preventing, or curing, consumption——in fact, of promoting and maintaining health, under any circumstances——I have ever seen, is given in the following true story of
“Then you are surprised to learn that I came within six weeks of dying of consumption, thirty years ago, are you, doctor?” The questioner was a bright, healthy little woman of fifty who, in the course of a consultation about a consumptive niece, had expressed herself as having little hope of her recovery, “because she wouldn’t do as I did when I had the disease——and she isn’t nearly as sick as I was.” Straight as an arrow, active and merry, looking more like forty than fifty, Mrs. E. was the last person that any one would select as belonging to a “consumptive family,” or of having suffered with the disease, in her own person, and yet her mother died of it when this daughter was about 19, and the latter’s decline was attributed to inherited tendency and long confinement in the sick-room, during the last year of her mother’s life. “Yes, I have told Lettie how I cured myself after the doctors gave me up, but she will not undertake it——not now, at least——perhaps she may when she gets where I was. Do you want me to give you my recipe for the cure of consumption, Doctor? Tell you the whole story? Well, the way is simple, and the story a short one, and if it will help any one I shall be very glad. I needn’t tell you all about mother’s case——hers was the old-fashioned consumption; she was sick a good many years, but the last year she was almost helpless and would have no one but me to take care of her. Well, I bore up until she died, and then I gave out; I could not go to the grave——I was in bed during the funeral. I had not realized——none of the family had——how poorly I had become; but now it was plain enough. I kept my bed most of the time——could not get rested. I had been sick several weeks when my brother was brought home ill, was taken with typhoid fever, and there was no one to nurse him. I roused myself up and declared that I was able to do it; and I carried the point, in spite of all father could say. Well, he was sick nine weeks, but I gave up before he recovered. I carried him through the worst of it, however, before I took my bed; and then I was very sick indeed. For a while they thought I could live but a few weeks, but I rallied and got more comfortable. I raised a great deal, and for several months remained about the same, apparently; but the autumn came, and when we began to shut the house up I seemed to grow worse; my cough was still very bad, but I couldn’t ‘raise’ much, and I suffered terribly for breath. The doctor who had been attending me——the one who had tended mother——at last said he could do no more for me, and for some months we had no physician, and then father called a new one——a young doctor who was fitting himself for practice in our village. He came to see me, examined my lungs, and I fainted away in the effort. He went out——leaving no medicine——and had a talk with father. He said that he did not care to take the case; that there was no hope for me; my lungs were badly ulcerated, and I had but few weeks to live. ‘She can’t live over six weeks,[31] Mr. B., and she may die any day. I am young, just commencing practice, and it will injure me to have her die on my hands; and I can not help her.’ ‘At least,’ said father, ‘give her something to relieve her suffering.’ They did not know that I could hear them; but spring-time had come again, the day was quite warm, and I had asked to have the window raised at the head of my bed, and so it happened that I could hear all they said. I heard the doctor returning, and I resolved not to take any of his soothing drops; I had taken all I meant to. ‘Well,’ said I, ‘what have you come back for, doctor?’ ‘Your father wished me to prescribe for you,’ said he. ‘Never mind,’ I said, firmly, ‘I shall take nothing more. You say I have six weeks to live: I will spend them in getting rid of the medicines I have taken the past year,’ and he went away. Soon father came in, seeming much disappointed and grieved, and in answer to his questioning, I told him why I had determined to take no more medicine, and what I had resolved to do; and now I will tell you what I did, and how I came to do it.