Paying the Doctor
AFTER a day of unusual anxiety and fatigue, Dr. Elton found himself
snugly wrapped up in a liberal quantity of blankets and bed-quilts,
just as the clock struck twelve one stormy night in February. For
over half an hour he had lain awake, racking his brain in reference
to two or three critical cases which were on his hands; but tired
nature could keep up no longer, and the sweet oblivion of sleep was
stealing over his senses. But just as he had lost himself, the bell
over his head began to ring furiously, and brought him into the
middle of the floor in an instant. Pushing his head out of the
window, he interrogated the messenger below, just too late to save
that individual the trouble of giving the bell-rope another violent
demonstration of his skill.
"Mr. Marvel wants you to come and see Charley immediately," replied
the messenger.
"What's the matter with Charley?"
"He's got the croup, I believe."
"Tell him I'll be there in a moment," said Dr. Elton, drawing in his
head. Hurrying on his clothes, he descended to his office, and,
possessing himself of some necessary medicines, it being too late
for the family to send out a prescription, wrapped his cloak around
him, and turned out into the storm.
It was at least half a mile to the residence of Mr. Marvel, and by,
the time the doctor arrived there, he was cold, wet, and
uncomfortable both in mind and body. Ascending to the chamber, he
was not a little surprised to find Charley, a bright little fellow
of some two years old, sitting up in his crib as lively as a
cricket.
"O doctor! we've been _so_ frightened!" said Mrs. Marvel, as Dr.
Elton entered. "We thought Charley had the croup, he breathed so
loud. But he don't seem to get any worse. What do you think of him,
doctor?"
Dr. Elton felt his pulse, listened to his respiration, examined the
appearance of his skin, and then said, emphatically--
"I think you'd better all be in bed!"
"It's better to be scared than hurt, doctor," responded Mr. Marvel.
"Humph!" ejaculated Dr. Elton.
"Don't you think you'd better give him something, doctor?" said Mrs.
Marvel.
"What for, ma'am?"
"To keep him from having the croup. Don't you think he's threatened
with it?"
"Not half as much as I am," replied the doctor, who made a quick
retreat, fearing that he would give way too much to his irritated
feelings, and offend a family who were able to pay.
Next morning, on the debtor side of his ledger, under the name of
Mr. Marvel, Dr. Elton made this entry; _To one night-visit to son,_
$5. "And it's well for me that he's able to pay," added the doctor,
mentally, as he replaced the book in the drawer from which he had
taken it. Scarcely had this necessary part of the business been
performed, when the same messenger who had summoned him the night
before, came post-haste into the office, with the announcement that
Mrs. Marvel wanted him to come there immediately, as Charley had got
a high fever.
Obedient to the summons, Dr. Elton soon made his appearance, and
found both Mr. and Mrs. Marvel greatly concerned about their little
boy.
"I'm _so_ 'fraid of the scarlet fever, doctor!" said Mrs. Marvel.
"Do you think it's any thing like that?" she continued with much
anxiety, turning upon Charley a look of deep maternal affection.
Dr. Elton felt of Charley's pulse, and looked at his tongue, and
then wrote a prescription in silence.
"What do you think of him, doctor?" asked the father, much
concerned.
"He's not dangerous, sir. Give him this, and if he should grow
worse, send for me."
The doctor bowed and departed, and the fond parents sent off for the
medicine. It was in the form of a very small dose of rhubarb, and
poor Charley had to have his nose held tight, and the nauseous stuff
poured down his throat. In the afternoon, when the doctor called, on
being sent for, there were some slight febrile symptoms, consequent
upon excitement and loss of rest. The medicine, contrary to his
expectation, heightened, instead of allaying these; and long before
nightfall he was summoned again to attend his little patient. Much
to his surprise, he found him with a hot skin, flushed face, and
quickened pulse. Mrs. Marvel was in a state of terrible alarm.
"I knew there was more the matter with him than you thought for,
doctor!" said the mother, while Dr. Elton examined his patient. "You
thought it was nothing, but I knew better. If you'd only prescribed
last night, as I wanted you to, all this might have been saved."
"Don't be alarmed, madam," said the doctor, "there is nothing
serious in this fever. It will soon subside."
Mrs. Marvel shook her head.
"It's the scarlet fever, doctor, I know it is!" said she,
passionately, bursting into tears.
"Let me beg of you, madam, not to distress yourself. I assure you
there is no danger!"
"So you said last night, doctor; and just see how much worse he is
getting!"
As Dr. Elton was generally a man of few words, he said no more, but
wrote a prescription, and went away, promising, however, at the
earnest request of Mrs. Marvel, to call again that night.
About nine o'clock he called in, and found Charley's fever in no
degree abated. Mrs. Marvel was in tears, and her husband pacing the
floor in a state of great uneasiness.
"O doctor, he'll die, I'm sure he'll die!" said Mrs. Marvel, weeping
bitterly.
"Don't be alarmed, my dear madam," replied the doctor. "I assure you
it is nothing serious."
"Oh, I'm 'sure it's the scarlet fever! It's all about now."
"No, madam, I am in earnest when I tell you it is nothing of the
kind. His throat is not in the least sore."
"Yes, doctor, it is sore!"
"How do you know?" responded the doctor, examining Charley's mouth
and throat, which showed not the least symptom of any irritation of
the mucous membrane. "It can't be sore from any serious cause. Some
trifling swelling of the glands is all that can occasion it, if any
exist."
Thus assured, and in a positive manner, Mrs. Marvel's alarm in some
degree abated, and after ordering a warm bath, the doctor retired.
About three o'clock the doctor was again sent for in great haste. On
entering the chamber of his little patient, he found his fever all
gone, and he in a pleasant sleep.
"What do you think of him, doctor?" asked Mrs. Marvel, in a low,
anxious whisper.
"I think he's doing as well as he can."
"But a'n't it strange, doctor, that he should breathe so low? He
looks so pale, and lays so quiet! Are you sure he's not dying?"
"Dying!" exclaimed Dr. Elton,--"he's no more dying than you are!
Really, Mrs. Marvel, yon torment yourself with unnecessary fears!
Nature is only a little exhausted from struggling with the fever, he
will be like a new person by morning."
"Do not mistake the case, doctor, for we are very much concerned,"
said Mr. Marvel.
"I do assure you, sir, that I understand the case precisely; and you
must believe me, when I tell you that no patient was ever in a
better way than your little boy."
Next morning, among other charges made by Dr. Elton, were two
against Mr. Marvel, as follows: _To four visits to son,_ $4. _To one
night-visit to son,_ $5.
"Not a bad customer!" said the doctor, with a smile, as he ran up
the whole account, and then closed the book.
In the constant habit of sending for the doctor on every trifling
occasion, whether it occurred at noonday or midnight, it is not to
be wondered at that a pretty large bill should find its way to Mr.
Marvel at the end of the year. And this was not the worst of it; the
health of his whole family suffered in no slight degree from the
fact of each individual being so frequently under the influence of
medicine. Poor Charley was victimized almost every week; and,
instead of being a fresh, hearty boy, began to show a pale, thin
face, and every indication of a weakened vital action. This
appearance only increased the evil, for both parents, growing more
anxious in consequence, were more urgent to have him placed under
treatment. Dr. Elton sometimes remonstrated with them, but to no
purpose; and yielding to their ignorance and their anxiety, became a
party in the destruction of the boy's health.
"What is that, my dear?" asked Mrs. Marvel of her husband, some ten
months after their introduction to the reader, as the latter
regarded, with no pleasant countenance, a small piece of paper which
he held in his hand.
"Why, it's Dr. Elton's bill."
"Indeed! How much is it?"
"One hundred and fifty dollars!"
"Oh, husband!"
"Did you ever hear of such a thing?"
"One hundred and fifty dollars, did you say?"
"Yes, one hundred and fifty dollars. A'n't it outrageous?"
"It's scandalous! It's downright swindling! I'd never pay it in the
world! Who ever heard of such a thing! One hundred and fifty dollars
for one year's attendance! Good gracious!"--and Mrs. Marvel held up
her hands, and lifted her eyes in profound astonishment.
"I can't understand it!" said Mr. Marvel. "Why, nobody's had a spell
of sickness in the family for the whole year. Charley's been a
little sick once or twice; but nothing of much consequence. There
must be something wrong about it. I'll go right off and see him, and
have an understanding about it at once."
Carrying out his resolution on the instant, Mr. Marvel left the
house and proceeded with rapid steps toward the office of Dr. Elton.
He found that individual in.
"Good morning Mr. Marvel! How do you do to-day?" said the doctor,
who understood from his countenance that something was wrong, and
had an instinctive perception of its nature.
"Good morning, doctor! I got your bill to-day."
"Yes, sir; I sent it out."
"But a'n't there something wrong about it, doctor?"
"No, I presume not. I make my charges carefully, and draw off my
bills in exact accordance with them."
"But there must be, doctor. How in the world could you make a bill
of one hundred and fifty dollars against me? I've had no serious
sickness in my family."
"And yet, Mr. Marvel, I have been called in almost every week, and
sometimes three or four times in as many days."
"Impossible!"
"I'll show you my ledger, if that will satisfy you, where every
visit is entered."
"No, it's no use to do that. I know that you have been called in
pretty often, but not frequently enough to make a bill like this."
"How many night-visits do you suppose I have made to your family,
during the year?"
"I'm sure I don't know. Not more than three or four."
"I've made ten!"
"You must be mistaken, doctor."
"Do you remember that I was called in last February, when you
thought Charley had the croup?"
"Yes."
"And the night after?"
"Yes. That's but two."
"And the night you thought he had the measles?"
"Yes."
"And the night after?"
"Yes. But that's only four."
"And the three times he fell out of bed?"
"Not three times, doctor!"
"Yes, it was three times. Don't you recollect the knob on his head?"
"Yes, indeed!"
"And the sprained finger?"
"Yes."
"And the bruised cheek?"
"Well, I believe you are right about that, doctor. But that don't
make ten times."
"You have not forgotten, of course, the night he told you he had
swallowed a pin?"
"No, indeed," said the father, turning pale. "Do you think there is
any danger to be apprehended from its working its way into the
heart, doctor?"
"None at, all, I should think. And you remember"--
"Never mind, doctor, I suppose you are right about that. But how can
ten visits make one hundred and fifty dollars?"
"They will make fifty, though, and that is one-third of the bill."
"You don't pretend to charge five dollars a visit, though, doctor?"
"For all visits after ten o'clock at night, we are allowed by law to
charge five dollars."
"Outrageous!"
"Would you get up out of your warm bed after midnight, turn out in a
December storm, and walk half a mile for five dollars?"
"I can't say that I would. But then it's your business."
"Of course it is, and I must be paid for it."
"Any how, doctor, that don't account for the whole of this
exorbitant bill."
"But one hundred day and evening visits here on my ledger will,
though."
"You don't pretend to say you have paid my family a hundred visits,
certainly?"
"I will give you day and date for them, if necessary."
"No, it's no use to do that," said Mr. Marvel, whose memory began to
be a little more active. "I'll give you a hundred dollars, and say
no more about it; that is enough, in all conscience."
"I can't do any such thing, Mr. Marvel. I have charged you what was
right, and can take nothing off. What would you think of a man who
had made a bill at your store of one hundred and fifty dollars, if
he were to offer you one hundred when he came to pay, and ask for a
receipt in full?"
"But that a'n't to the point."
"A'n't it, though? I should like to hear of a case more applicable.
But it's no use to multiply words about the matter. My bill is
correct, and I cannot take a dollar off of it."
"It's the last bill you ever make out of me, remember that, doctor!"
said Mr. Marvel, rising, and leaving the office in a state of angry
excitement.
"Well, what does he say?" asked Mrs. Marvel, who had waited for her
husband's return with some interest.
"He tried to beat me down that the bill was all right; but I'm too
old a child for that. Why, would you believe it?--he has charged
five dollars for every night-visit."
"That's no better than highway robbery."
"Not a bit. But it's the last money he ever gets out of me."
"I'd never call him in, I know. He must think we're made of money."
"Oh, I suppose we're the first family he's had who wasn't poor, and
he wanted to dig as deep as possible. I hate such swindling, and if
it wasn't for having a fuss I'd never pay him a dollar."
"He's charged us for every poor family in the neighbourhood, I
suppose."
"No doubt of it. I've heard of these tricks before; but it's the
last time I'll submit to have them played off upon me."
The visit of Mr. Marvel somewhat discomposed the feelings of Dr.
Elton, and he had begun to moralize upon the unthankful position he
held in the community, when he was aroused from his reverie by the
entrance of a servant from one of the principal hotels, with a
summons to attend immediately a young lady who was thought to be
exceedingly ill.
"Who is she?" asked the doctor.
"She is the daughter of Mr. Smith, a merchant from the East."
"Is any one with her?"
"Yes, her father."
"Tell him I will be there immediately."
In the course of fifteen minutes Dr. Elton's carriage drove up to
the door of the hotel. He found his patient to be a young lady of
about seventeen, accompanied by her father, a middle-aged man, whose
feelings were much, and anxiously excited.
At a glance, his practised eye detected symptoms of a serious
nature, and a closer examination of the case convinced him that all
his skill would be called into requisition. With a hot, dry skin,
slightly flushed face, parched lips, and slimy, furred tongue, there
was a dejection, languor, and slight indication of delirium--and
much apparent confusion of mind. Prescribing as he thought the case
required, he left the room, accompanied with the father.
"Well, doctor, what do you think of her?" said Mr. Smith, with a
heavy, oppressed expiration.
"She is ill, sir, and will require attention."
"But, doctor, you don't think my child dangerous, do you?" said the
father with an alarmed manner.
"It is right that you should know, sir, that your daughter is, to
all appearance, threatened with the typhus fever. But I don't think
there is any cause for alarm, only for great care in her physician
and attendants."
"O doctor, can I trust her in your hands? But I am foolish; I know
that there is no one in this city of more acknowledged skill than
yourself. You must pardon a father's fears. Spare no attentions,
doctor--visit her at least twice every day, and you shall be well
paid for your attentions. Save my child for me, and I will owe you
eternal gratitude."
"All that I can do for her, shall be done, sir," said Dr. Elton.
Just relieved from the care of a dangerous case, in its healthy
change, Dr. Elton's mind had relaxed from the anxiety which too
frequently burdened it; for a physician's mind is always oppressed
while the issue, of life or death hangs upon his power to subdue a
disease, which may be too deeply seated to yield to the influence of
medicine. Now, all the oppressive sense of responsibility, the care,
the anxiety, were to be renewed, and felt with even a keener
concern.
In the evening he called in, but there was no perceptible change,
except a slight aggravation of all the symptoms. The medicine had
produced no visible salutary effect. During the second day, there
was exhibited little alteration, but on the morning of the third
day, symptoms of a more decided character had supervened--such as
suffused and injected eyes, painful deglutition, an oppression in
the chest, accompanied with a short, dry cough, pains in the back,
loins, and extremities; and a soreness throughout the whole body.
These had not escaped the father's observation, and with the most
painful anxiety did he watch the countenance of the physician while
he examined the case in its new presentation. Much as he tried to
control the expression of his face, he found it impossible. He felt
too deeply concerned, and was too conscious of the frequent
impotence of medicine, when administered with the most experienced
skill.
In the afternoon he called again, and found the father, as usual, by
the bedside. His patient seemed to be in a narcotic sleep, and when
roused from it, complained of much giddiness, and soon sunk down
again into a state of torpor.
"What do you think of her now, doctor?" asked the father, in a
hoarse whisper, on the physician's leaving the chamber of his
patient.
"It is impossible to form any correct idea respecting a case like
this. I have seen many much worse recover, and have no doubt, as far
as human calculation will go, that your daughter will get well. But
the fever is a tedious one, usually defying all attempts at breaking
it. It must run its course, which is usually some ten or fifteen
days. All we can do is to palliate, and then assist nature, when the
disease has abated its violence."
It is not necessary to trace the progress of the disease from day to
day, until it reached its climax. When the fever did break, and a
soft, gentle moisture penetrated the skin, the patient had but a
spark of life remaining.
At the close of the fifteenth day, when every symptom indicated that
convalescence or death would soon ensue, no one but a physician can
imagine the painful, restless anxiety, which was felt by Dr. Elton.
He took but little food, and slept hardly any during the whole
night, frequently starting from his brief periods of troubled
slumber, in consequence of great nervous excitement.
Early in the morning he called at the room of his patient,
trembling, lest a first glance should dash every hope to the ground.
He entered softly, and perceived the father bending over her with a
pale anxious face. She was asleep. He took her hand, but let it drop
instantly.
"What is the matter?" asked the father in an alarmed whisper, his
face growing paler.
"She is safe?" responded the doctor, in a low whisper, every pulse
thrilling with pleasant excitement.
The father clasped his hands, looked upward a moment, and then burst
into tears.
"How can I ever repay you for your skill in saving my child!" he
said, after his feelings had grown calmer.
It was nearly a month before the daughter was well enough to return
home, during most of which time Dr. Elton was in attendance. For
fifteen days he had attended twice a day regularly, and for nearly
as long a period once a day.
While sitting in his office one day about three o'clock, waiting for
his carriage to come up to the door, Mr. Smith entered, and asked
for his bill, as he was about to leave. On examining his
account-book, Dr. Elton found that he had made about fifty visits,
and accordingly he made out his bill fifty dollars.
"How much is this, doctor?" said Mr. Smith, eyeing the bill with
something of doubt in the expression of his countenance.
"Fifty dollars, sir."
"Fifty dollars! Why, surely, doctor, you are not going to take
advantage of me in that way?"
"I don't understand you, sir."
"Why, I never heard of such an extravagant bill in my life. I have
my whole family attended at home for fifty dollars a year, and you
have not been visiting one of them much over a month."
"Such as the bill is, you will have to pay it, sir. It is just, and
I shall not abate one dollar," responded Dr. Elton, considerably
irritated.
Mr. Smith drew out his pocket-book slowly, selected a fifty-dollar
bill from a large package, handed it to the doctor, took his
receipt, and rising to his feet, said emphatically--
"I am a stranger, and you have taken advantage of me. But remember,
the gains of dishonesty will never prosper!" and turning upon his
heel, left the office.
"Who would be a doctor?" murmured Dr. Elton, forcing the unpleasant
thoughts occasioned by the incident from his mind, and endeavouring
to fix it upon a case of more than usual interest which he had been
called to that day.
A word to the wise is sufficient; it is therefore needless to
multiply scenes illustrative of the manner in which too many people
pay the doctor.
When any one is sick, the doctor is sent for, and the family are all
impatient until he arrives. If the case is a bad one, he is looked
upon as a ministering angel; the patient's eye brightens when he
comes, and all in the house feel more cheerful for hours after. Amid
all kinds of weather, at all hours in the day or night, he obeys the
summons, and brings all his skill, acquired by long study, and by
much laborious practice, to bear upon the disease. But when the sick
person gets well, the doctor is forgotten; and when the bill
appears, complaint at its amount is almost always made; and too
frequently, unless he proceed to legal measures, it is entirely
withheld from him. These things ought not so to be. Of course, there
are many honourable exceptions; but every physician can
exclaim--"Would that their number was greater!"
-THE END-
T S Arthur's short story: Paying the Doctor
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