Not a Hiatus

I hope to meet up with my daughters and their men this weekend.  We are camping in the Blue Ridge within the boundaries of the Mt. Rogers Recreation Area for three nights.  Caroline and Joey will drive up from Charleston; Lillian and Brian will drive down from Buffalo; we will drive across from Morristown.  While there we will bike 17 miles of the Virginia Creeper Trail:  an old railroad bed that winds along a mountain ridge and ends up in the town of Damascus.  


But let not my brief departure from cyberspace deter you from further anecdotes, memories, and characters from your past.  Let the spirit of Mrs. Turley (if not her sweat) be upon you!

A Stich in Time, or "Thanks for the Mammaries"

Henry   ---   Working the emergency room at Memphis as an intern sometimes required the use of unorthodox methods on obstreperous drunks.  When an unruly drunk with razor cuts came in, however, the problem was to hold them down  in order to sew them up.  The old Memphis policeman assigned to the emergency room would come to he aid of the needle wielder with a technique he had devised.  With the patient lying on his side, the policeman would jam his elbow into the drunk’s ear so that if the patient struggled he just bore down forcefully and they usually quit moving as any motion made for more pain.  The patient could then be sewn up.  The policeman called this ‘elbow anesthesia’.

             The sewing technique that was taught was to use interrupted stitches.  This meant that each stitch had to be individually made, then tied and cut.  This takes a bit of time.  It was not unusual for a razor fight to result in dozens of long slashes. It was also not unusual to have several victims of the fights come in at the same time.  In order to save time one had to take a short cut and use a running suture, looping the needle and suture along the cut without stopping to tie off each stitch.  The result was not always cosmetically pleasing, but it got the job done.

              Saturday nights were the busiest with sometimes rather severe injuries from the fights.  One woman came in with multiple puncture wounds all over her chest.  When I questioned her she said she had been in a fight with another woman who wielded an icepick.  “  But you just wait, doctor “, she said. “ When they bring that ice pick woman in you’ll see what I did to her.  I bit her titty off.”  And Saturday night was only getting started.    I think this type of scene would demonstrate the difference between the Memphis charity hospital from the elitist Chicago suburb hospital that your Dad interned at where each patient had a personal private physician.    But I got paid more – a dollar a day, and John got nothing.       Will Meriwether

Mrs. Turley's Boarding House

Henry,
The details may be fuzzy, but this is how I remember Mrs. Turley's boarding house:
Looking for living quarters on our first visit to UT Medical School in Memphis, Will Meriwether and I decided to be roommates.  There were no UT dormitory rooms available, but across the street from the main campus Mrs. Turley took in boarders.  She wasn't "pickey" in her roomers, and we found a good 2nd floor room, and could eat our meals in her house next door. The food was OK, but it was so hot in Memphis in July, that whenever Mrs. Turley chatted with us at dinner, she dripped sweat into all our victuals.  We did learn how to set rat traps in our closet, and caught a rat or a mouse at least 3-4 nights a week.  However, they kept getting smaller, until we ran out of the varmints.  The "cheesy" hotel next door gave us great window views on the art of love-making, if we only had the time.  After 2-3 months we settled  for a real UT college dormitory room with a study.  We missed the old "clientele".
Love,
Dad

 Henry   ---   I never eat mashed potatoes now without it bringing back memories of Mrs. Turley serving us, family style, at her dining table with her sweat dripping into the dish.    Will Meriwether

Ten Home Deliveries

Henry  --  As medical students we were required to do ten home deliveries during our senior year while taking a class in obstetrics.  In Memphis there was ample opportunity for home deliveries among the fecund colored population, so after a call from the obstetrical coordinator, a public health nurse would pick up the student who was next on the roster and drive out to the home of the intended  patient.  The nurse always called us ‘doctor’ but she was the one who really knew the ropes.  The nurse would line the patient’s bed with newspaper and I  would count the time between pains and wait for the climax.  

On one occasion when the time was near the patient began to call on her religious backers for help with each pain, then between pains ask for the slop jar, saying she had to go.   The public health nurse cautioned, “Doctor, I would not advise putting her on the pot as she has the ‘Jesus, help me pains’,  and  that is a sign of a fast-approaching baby.”  In my role of ‘Doctor’, I said, “I’ll handle this, nurse, just put her on the pot”, feeling sorry for the patient.   The next sound was a loud THUNK.  It was the baby,   delivering itself into the slop jar.    I learned my lesson  -  listen to the voice of experience.       Will Meriwether

Stories of mid-twentieth century medicine, cont'd

Gentlemen:  I have made some changes to the blog.  First, please note the "comment" section below each post.  I THINK it is now set up to allow anyone to comment, although your comment may list you as "anonymous".   Second, remember that at the bottom of the page there is an "Older Post" notice that you may click to go backwards.  Blogs show more recent posts first, so if one wants to read in order, one must start at the oldest and then read up.

Now that the subject of cats has been broached there is the potential for all manner of stories. Who lacks one regarding pets or other animals?  I once tamed a feral, tail-less cat whom I named "Bob" for obvious reasons.  After some time I felt it was my bounden duty and service to have Bob "gone over" by our local vet.  After the exam I was told that Bob was female.  She became "Roberta" from then on.  What about the pet turtles, Norm van Brocklin and Johnny Unitas, that my brother and I had?  We buried Norm van Brocklin in a metal bandaid box after his demise.  Six weeks later, Johnny Unitas died.  In an uncharacteristic display of economy, we elected to exhume van Brocklin and use the same coffin.  While preparing the body, you can imagine our horror as van Brocklin came forth from his tomb! Turns out they were hibernating.


So Dad:  what about the rabid fox patient at the Lexington Clinic?  How about an account of the maternity ward in Memphis at the height of the summer?  Don't I remember something about white women calling for their husbands, but black women calling for Jesus?  And who was it whose patient came back to the office with profuse thanks for saving her life?  As I recall, the doctor didn't remember the case.  He asked what her diagnosis was.  "Oh, doctor," she replied, "you said I was moribund, and you were right!"

The Hospital Cat

Henry   ---   We interns in Memphis lived on the sixth floor of the hospital.  A cat lived with us.  I don’t know where it came from, or how long it had been there, but it took up with me, a cat fancier, and would take its naps on my pillow.  It was a black and white female and carried the name of Mary Ruth.  Also on the sixth floor was the hospital blood bank, and Mary Ruth, as cats are prone to do, liked to prowl.  Unfortunately this feline excursion was not fancied by the blood bank director who was probably a dog person as she certainly did not take to Mary Ruth or her presence in the blood bank.  The end result was she did away with Mary Ruth.  It was not a violent end, just a simple gesture, a gift to a blood donor who left with Mary Ruth, and the hospital cat was  never to be seen again.  However, this was not the end of the hospital cat saga.   A stray black kitten appeared, origin unknown, and took Mary Ruth’s place in the interns’ quarters and made its home in my room.   In our interns’ group was a hulk of a fellow from east Tennessee who had a black heart.  One spring day the kitten was sunning itself on my windowsill, and this intern came into the room, noticed the kitten on the windowsill, calmly came over and to my astonishment pushed it off, and out the window it plunged down six floors.  I could hardly believe the callous act.  I said, “ Ray, why in the world did you do that?”  He looked out the window and remarked, “I just wanted to see if it landed on its feet”.  I rushed down the six flights, not waiting for the elevator, and found the kitten, stunned, but alive.   I took it into the hospital, had it x-rayed and found no broken bones.  It recovered, I am happy to say, and took the place of Mary Ruth as the hospital cat.          Will Meriwether

Centre College

Henry  --  I couldn’t help but have a good chuckle at the little boy’s prayer.  I am reminded of the time when I was a freshman in college, (Centre College of Kentucky) where the Presbyterian ethic was still in play before they secularized.  Some of the student ate in the College dining commons and at each meal one student would be asked to give the pre-meal blessing.  When I was the chosen one I blanked out, couldn’t remember a single blessing, so mumbled a confused version of the Lord’s Prayer and sat down.    It is these moments of acute embarrassment that linger in one’s mind.    Will Meriwether

Dr. Meriwether,
I actually attended Sewanee with the great great granddaughter of Ephraim McDowell!  As a Centre alum, you will remember that he made Danville the heart of abdominal surgery for a bit!  
-Henry