Diagnosing Disease.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 19117, 9 July 1930, Page 8

Diagnosing Disease.

Talks On Health .

By A Family Doctor. W E CAN DEFINE many diseases with accuracy; we can say this man is suffering from consumption, that one from diabetes, and so on; but we doctors often have to deal with men and women who have no definite disease—they are labelled .“general debility.” The truth is that every part of their body is suffering from over-strain. Brain, nerves, back, eyes, and internal organs have all stood just about their limit; the burden is dangerously near the size when it crushes the bearer. Bottled Wealth. We must try to look at the mental and physical side. Financial worry is not an easy problem for a doctor to tackle. I did try it once. I put up a notice to the effect that Thursday evenings would be set aside solely for the treatment of those whose health was impaired by financial worry. The treatment was simple. I rolled up a ten-pound note and put it in a bottle. Patients like something out of a bottle. A ten-pound note in an envelope would not be nearly as beneficial as the same thing in a bottle. My clinic was a success; in some cases tears of gratitude fell on my hand as I tendered the precious bottle. I really think the “medicine” did permanent good in the few cases where it was wisely used. But I found my practise on Thursday evenings increasing beyond my capacity. I was the most popular doctor for miles around, but as I could not live on popularity alone I had to close down. Let's All Be Kind. The methods I used to combat general debility were numerous. First and foremost came the recommendation for a holiday—not a mad, wild rush to another city, but a real rest; there is always a kind auntie somewhere who never got married and loves to expend her store of love on the sick and the unhappy. You know what I mean, “breakfast in bed, dearie,” a couple of poached eggtf on toast, then another snooze. Then a wash with auntie’s best scented soap, so refreshing, then another snooze. A little later a big cup of some delicious beef-tea, auntie’s special brew, then another snooze. A light lunch with a few ripe strawberries sent, in by a kind neighbour, who heard there was an invalid in the house. Oh, dear, what sweet people there are in the world! Then another snooze; then a good cry on auntie’s shoulder as you explain to her how your poor head ached when the manager sent for you to point out your mistakes; then another snooze, from which you awake to find tea ready and a letter from Harry. It’s all so lovely 1 The poor tired nerves brisk up like flowers put in water. Blessings on dear old auntie; blessings on the dear old doctor; what a splendid world it is when we are all kind to one another! Get Vaccinated!

I hope you will get vaccinated if you are in a dangerous area; it is a protection. I would not say it was if it wasn’t. You see, you are not one solitary individual; you are a link in a complicated chain. You receive the infection from another link, and you may hand it on to another link. You must think of others besides yourself. You would be sorry for yourself if you contracted smallpox, but that would be a small matter compared to the horror of feeling that you had infected someone else, perhaps* your own child. Is disease a crime? Yes, sometimes. It is a crime when it occurs in circumstances where it could easily have been prevented. I grant you that if everyone were like you the world would be a very different place, and the risk of catching disease would be reduced to a minimum. But you may sit next to someone who has never known the value of washing, who hates soap and water as though they were poison; you have to walk down streets that are inhabited by dirty people and whose children are brought up to regard dirt as the normal. You must protect yourself as far as you can against these unwashed thousands. You will be wise to be vaccinated. There is no risk, very little discomfort, and always the feeling that you have done the right thing. Our Silly Nerves. There are ten thousand of you suffering from nervous dyspepsia, and you must cure yourselves. What are you frightened of? If you could give a frank answer to that question you would be well on the way to a CU You are afraid that the children will be run over, that father will lose his job, that you have got cancer, that you will be dead in a month or less, that your children will then die of starvation because there will be no one to look after them, that father will starve, too, if you are not there to get his breakfast. You can add to this picture if you like, but if you sit down and think you will realise that you are worrying unnecessarily and that your- loss of appetite is all due*to your silly nerves. Have A Good Laugh.

I wish you would have a jolly good laugh. You dry up all your digestive juices when you wear a gloomy face like that; your smiling muscles have almost died away from want of use. When you are nervous your mouth gets dry because the saliva does not flow, and your stomach gets dry too. Do try to be a bit more cheerful: the roof has not fallen in for the last twenty years, and it will hold out for your lifetime. Even if the roof does fall in, you can go on eating your dinner unperturbed, provided the plaster doesn’t fall in the soup.

When a finger is badly crushed the bone may be splintered. In the course of a few weeks the flesh may partially heal, but the discharge from the bottom of the wound may persist. In that case a small splinter of bone has died, and dead bone acts as a foreign body and prevents healing. Unless you go to a doctor and get him to remove the piece of dead bone the finger will remain open for many weeks, until your patience is quite exhausted, it is a great satisfaction to see the particle of dead bone lying on the table instead or in your hand, and the finger will then Heal before you can say “Jack Robinson.