YOUR LIFE IS NOT WORTH A STRAW.
Not worth a straw, cli 1 Thon it is worth just nothing — nothing at all. .Who has not used thut expression a thousand tim^s to express al>solute worthlessness % A straw? The wind lilows it away, the fire bnrns ib up, cattle tread it in the mud, it rots by the roadside. What o!i it 1 Who cares for a straw 1 Yet this is exactlj what a doctor recently said to one of his patients, 'Your lifivis not worth a straw.' How much is t\ doctor worth who will speakso to one that trusts him, and has no hope but in his skill 1 For ray part, if ho were up for sale, at auction, I wouldbid one straw for him — no more. Even if what he said were true, he had no ; right to say it. Such . a doctor is more likely to kill with his tongue than to cure Avith his drugs. A woman tells the . story and she tells it well. If it does not sound like the truth, then I don't know whatever does. The dates and facts are all there plain and orderly. . = . . , ' In the summer of 1878,' she says, 1 1 found myself feeling tired, languid, low-spirited and weak. I felt as if some evil were going to happen. My appetite was poor, and after eating I had excruciating pain at the pit of my stomach, and a rising in the throat as if I would choke. My head felfc as' if I had a ton weight on it. Gradually I got worse and for months could take only liquid food. At night I lay awake for hours together/ ' Later on I suffered greatly from nervous prostration. My legs trembled and shook so I feared to fall. If a knock came to the door I trembled from head to foot. I had frequent attacks which began with palpitation of the heart and sudden stoppage of the breath. At these times I was speechless and helpless. They say I looked like a corpse, cold and bloodless, my finger nails and tips having turned black. After a while this would pass off, leaving me weak and prostrate. I got so emaciated and thin that 1 was only a bag of bones, and so weak I had to take hold of the furniture as I crossed the room. As time went on the nervousness and forebodings of evil so increased that I feared I should go out of my mind. The neighbours said it would be a mercy *"it the Lord would reloasfi me from my sufferings. { In this condition I continued for over four years, during which time I consulted five doctors, but nothing they gave me did any good. They all said my ailment was heart disease, and one said, 'Your life is not worth a straw.' ' In despair I gave up taking physicj as I felt that nothing would save me. In May, 1882, ten years ago, a lady (Mrs Richardson) called at my house, told me of Mother Seigel's Curative Syrup, and strongly advised me to try it. I did so and felt somewhat better after the first bottle ; and by the time I had taken three bottles I was completely cured. From that to this I have had no return of the attacks, and am so strong I can do any kind of work. But for Seigel's Syrup I should have been in my grave long ago. I wish others to know this and will answer any who may call or write.'-— (Signed) Emma Wickenden (wife of William Wickenden, gardener), Pembroke Villas, 123 Moffat Road, Thornton Heath, March 17, 1892. So it turned out that her life was not only worth a straw, but worth a whole harvest of health and better days. Yet no thanks to the doctors. Her complicated symptoms puzzled and alarmed them, to be sure, but why 1 Is it not the doctors' duty to understand such things? Most assuredly. Just as a lawyer should know the law, or a pilot the rocks, tides and lights of a coast. Had some of these medical men known that Mrs Wickenden's malady was indigestion and dyspepsia, and not heart disease, they might possibly have relieved her. But confused by the symptoms, they were blind' to the cause. We may well wonder if there are many such doctors in Englond. Cases like this show that the clear sight belonged to Mother Seigel ; and to her remedy hosts of people in this country are indebted for physical salvation when, in very truth, their lives seemed as straws. Remember this was ten years ago and the malady has not returned, showing that the cure was a permanent one.
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Bibliographic details
Clutha Leader, Volume XX, Issue 1036, 8 June 1894, Page 3
Word Count
792YOUR LIFE IS NOT WORTH A STRAW. Clutha Leader, Volume XX, Issue 1036, 8 June 1894, Page 3
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