Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XXIII. More Doctors
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These were his last words.
When I went away William James was still
sitting leaning back in his chair, his hands over
his face, his open note-book still on his knees.
The page was blank.
I saw a good deal of my colleague and also
of several of his patients during that winter.
He was always talking about the marvellous
results of his serum, and of another new remedy
for angina pectoris he had been using of late
in his nursing home with wonderful success.
Upon my telling him how interested I had always
been in angina pectoris he consented to take
me to his nursing home and show me some of
his patients cured by the new remedy. I was
greatly surprised to recognize in one of them a
former patient of mine, a wealthy American lady
with all the classical stigmas of hysteria, classified
by me as a malade imaginaire, looking remarkably
well as she had always done. She had been in
bed for over a month, attended night and day
by two nurses, temperature taken every four
hours, hypodermic injections of unknown drugs
several times a day, the minutest details of her
diet regulated with utmost scrupulosity,
sleeping-draughts at night, in fact, everything she wanted.
She no more had angina pectoris than I had.
Luckily for her she was as strong as a horse and
quite capable of resisting any treatment. She
told me my colleague had saved her life. Soon
it dawned upon me that the majority of the
patients in the nursing home consisted of more
or less similar cases under the same severe hospital
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