The Doctor’s Dilemma

is my best; and it must last till Christmas. What can I do? I’ve never opened a book since I was qualified thirty years ago. I used to read the medical papers at first; but you know how soon a man drops that; besides, I can’t afford them; and what are they after all but trade papers, full of advertisements? I’ve forgotten all my science: what’s the use of my pretending I haven’t? But I have great experience: clinical experience; and bedside experience is the main thing, isn’t it? B.B. No doubt; always provided, mind you, that you have a sound scientific theory to correlate your observations at the bedside. Mere experience by itself is nothing. If I take my dog to the bedside with me, he sees what I see. But he learns nothing from it. Why? Because he’s not a scientific dog. Walpole It amuses me to hear you physicians and general practitioners talking about clinical experience. What do you see at the bedside but the outside of the patient? Well: it isn’t his outside that’s wrong, except perhaps in skin cases. What you want is a daily familiarity with people’s insides; and that you can only get at the operating table. I know what I’m talking about: I’ve been a surgeon and a consultant for twenty years; and I’ve never known a general practitioner right in his diagnosis yet. Bring them a perfectly simple case; and they diagnose cancer, and arthritis, and appendicitis, and every other itis, when any really experienced surgeon can see that it’s a plain case of blood-poisoning. Blenkinsop Ah, it’s easy for you gentlemen to talk; but what would you say if you had my practice? Except for the workmen’s clubs, my patients are all clerks and shopmen. They daren’t be ill: they can’t afford it. And when they break down, what can I do for them? You can send your people to St. Moritz or to Egypt, or recommend horse exercise or motoring or champagne jelly or complete change and rest for six months. I might as well order my people a slice of the moon. And the worst of it is, I’m too poor to keep well myself on the cooking I have to put up with. I’ve such a wretched digestion; and I look it. How am I to inspire confidence? He sits disconsolately on the couch. Ridgeon Restlessly. Don’t, Blenkinsop: it’s too painful. The most tragic thing in the world is a sick doctor. Walpole Yes, by George: it’s like a bald-headed man trying to sell a hair restorer. Thank God I’m a surgeon! B.B. Sunnily. I am never sick. Never had a day’s illness in my life. That’s what enables me to sympathize with my patients. Walpole Interested. What! you’re never ill? B.B. Never. Walpole That’s interesting. I believe you have no nuciform sac. If you ever do feel at all queer, I should very much like to have a look. B.B. Thank you, my dear fellow; but I’m too busy just now. Ridgeon I was just telling them when you came in, Blenkinsop, that I have worked myself out of sorts. Blenkinsop Well, it seems presumptuous of me to offer a prescription to a great man like you; but still I have great experience; and if I might recommend a pound of ripe greengages every day half an hour before lunch, I’m sure you’d find a benefit. They’re very cheap. Ridgeon What do you say to that, B.B.? B.B. Encouragingly. Very sensible, Blenkinsop: very sensible indeed. I’m delighted to see that you disapprove of drugs. Sir Patrick Grunts. ! B.B. Archly. Aha! Haha! Did I hear from the fireside armchair the bow-wow of the old school defending its drugs? Ah, believe me, Paddy, the world would be healthier if every chemist’s shop in England were demolished. Look at the papers! full of scandalous advertisements of patent medicines! a huge commercial system of quackery and poison. Well, whose fault is it? Ours. I say, ours. We set the example. We spread the superstition. We taught the people to believe in bottles of doctor’s stuff; and now they buy it at the stores instead of consulting a medical man. Walpole Quite true. I’ve not prescribed a drug for the last fifteen years. B.B. Drugs can only repress symptoms: they cannot eradicate disease. The true remedy for all diseases is Nature’s remedy. Nature and Science are at one, Sir Patrick, believe me; though you were taught differently. Nature has provided, in the white corpuscles as you call them⁠—in the phagocytes as we call them⁠—a natural means of devouring and destroying all disease germs. There is at bottom only one genuinely scientific treatment for all diseases, and that is to stimulate the phagocytes. Stimulate the phagocytes. Drugs are a delusion. Find the germ of the disease; prepare from it a suitable antitoxin; inject it three times a day quarter of an hour before meals; and what is the result? The phagocytes are stimulated; they devour the disease; and the patient recovers⁠—unless, of course, he’s too far gone. That, I take it, is the essence of Ridgeon’s discovery. Sir Patrick Dreamily. As I sit here, I seem to hear my poor old father talking again. B.B. Rising in incredulous amazement. Your father! But, Lord bless my soul, Paddy, your father must have been an older man than you. Sir Patrick Word for word almost, he said what you say. No more drugs. Nothing but inoculation. B.B. Almost contemptuously. Inoculation! Do you mean smallpox inoculation? Sir Patrick Yes. In the privacy of our family circle, sir, my father used to declare his belief that smallpox inoculation was good, not only for smallpox, but for all fevers. B.B. Suddenly rising to the new idea with immense interest and excitement. What! Ridgeon: did you hear that? Sir Patrick: I am more struck by what you have just told me than I can well express. Your father, sir, anticipated a discovery of my own. Listen, Walpole. Blenkinsop: attend one