Modern Medical Irony, and an Excerpt

Modern Medical Irony, and an Excerpt

Before I picked up some sort of virus that has had me down for the count for the better part of the last week, I’d been bandying about several ideas for a post. But then I finally went in to the doctor yesterday, and watched them perform a rapid strep test. The nurse swabbed the back of my throat, put the swab in a test tube with some liquid, and minutes later the doctor came back to see the results.

It was negative, as I knew it would be. I had strep so many times as a kid – once it even developed into scarlet fever – that I can tell when I have it now as an adult. It got me to thinking, though, how far medicine has come since the Regency era. Strep throat, caused by streptococcus bacteria, is cured these days with a rapid test and a round of antibiotics. In Jane Austen’s time, a throat or skin infection caused by streptococcus that devolved into scarlet fever could easily turn deadly, and outbreaks often caused multiple deaths in a village. So if I’d lived 200 years ago, it’s pretty possible I could have been one of those many children who died before reaching adulthood.

The Stabler-Leadbeater Apothecary Museum in Alexandria, Virginia.

I find myself using readers’ modern knowledge of basic medicine to create irony in my stories, because for some reason it’s just irresistible to me. From a woman washing her hands before delivering a baby not because of fear of infection but because it’s important they be clean when she touches the mistress of the great house, to a physician chastising a woman that she ought to be drinking beer and wine rather than water distilled from sea water, there’s something enjoyable about deploying what I’d call modern medical irony.

Surgical instruments on display at the Old Operating Theatre Museum in London.

Perhaps it’s a bit mean of me to mock physicians’ lack of medical knowledge back then, but then again, physicians were of higher rank in society than surgeons, but surgeons actually saved more lives. After all, there’s all the blood-letting, the theories of humours, the belief that disease is caused by miasmas or bad air, basically the generally wrong science behind the medicine these physicians practiced. Yet that may be painting physicians’ ineffectiveness with a rather broad brush. After all, by this era effective vaccination for smallpox was possible, and the forceps had been in use for many decades, likely saving countless lives during childbirth. The causes of malaria (disease-carrying mosquitoes) and scurvy (lack of vitamin c) may not have been known, but they could be effectively treated with Jesuit’s bark (containing quinine) and fruits or vegetables (usually lemon or lime juice at sea, although sauerkraut has also come up in my readings!). Although again, lack of underlying understanding of the disease and the cure meant that Jesuit’s bark was used not only to treat malaria, but pretty much anything else they could think of.

Pill-making materials at at the Old Operating Theatre Museum in London.

There is, though, evidence that there was at least some understanding of infection, which I hadn’t realised until I reread Frankenstein, published in 1818. There’ll be more on this book in a  later post, but for now, this excerpt shows clearly an understanding that one person can infect another with scarlet fever:

Elizabeth had caught the scarlet fever; but her illness was not severe, and she quickly recovered. During her confinement, many arguments had been urged to persuade my mother to refrain from attending upon her. She had, at first, yielded to our entreaties; but when she heard that her favourite was recovering, she could no longer debar herself from her society, and entered her chamber long before the danger of infection was past.

Perhaps the most so far in my series, I’ve been drawing on modern medicine (including some google image searches not for the faint of heart) in A Season Lost. With multiple births occurring within the span of a very long book, it’s almost unavoidable, and I actually read Thomas Denman’s book on midwifery, which would have been commonly referenced by accoucheurs (also known as “man-midwife” physicians) and other physicians during that time, portions of which are even less for the faint of heart than my google searches. It’s not one of those births I’ll leave you all with as an excerpt, however, but instead an event that takes us back to what I began with…streptococcus. It’s mildly spoilerish in terms of what one of the plotlines will be in the book, but probably more cliffhangerish than spoilerish. In it, the Darcys are visiting Kent because Mr. Darcy wants to investigate water-cress, then being cultivated commercially in that county, and staying at Rosings:

As it turned out, Elizabeth liked the water-cress very much. She assumed Rosings’s cook had been warned in advance by Lady Catherine that a French water-cress soup must be put on the table that evening. It was, and was praised by both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Collins, although Mr. Collins’s praise was substantively more extensive and exuberant than Darcy’s was.

Elizabeth liked the soup well enough, but what she found she really preferred was the sallad. She had never favoured rich or heavy foods, and here was something of a very pleasing lightness and mildness. She liked it so well she asked Darcy to serve her more of it, and he gave her a sceptical look in return.

“I do truly like it,” she murmured in protest.

“Mrs. Darcy, Mr. Darcy, what are you speaking of?” asked Lady Catherine.

“I was just telling Mr. Darcy how much I liked the sallad, Lady Catherine. If your cook does not mind, I would like to get the directions for how it was dressed before we leave.”

“Oh yes, yes, of course. Cook minds what I tell her to mind, and you shall have your directions.”

“It is a most elegant sallad,” said Mr. Collins, who having not touched what little of it he had endeavoured to put on his plate, now attacked it vigorously. “I would not have thought to dress a vegetable in such a way, but it is a statement of your cook’s superiority, Lady Catherine, that she should do so.”

“Mr. Collins, are you well?” asked Elizabeth, for he seemed – even in the candlelight – to be very flushed.

“Mrs. Darcy is kind to ask, but I am quite well.”

“Your cheeks do have a little of the look of scarlet fever,” Elizabeth advanced, hesitantly. “We had an outbreak of in our neighbourhood, when I was young – two of my sisters had it.”

“Scarlet fever!” exclaimed Lady Catherine. “What nonsense! Scarlet fever is a wintertime disease.”

“True,” said Elizabeth, “yet I think our present weather is more like winter than anything else.”

“It is not scarlet fever,” Lady Catherine said, firmly. “Mr. Collins, do you have a sore throat?”

“I do not, your ladyship. My throat feels in perfect health, and I am honoured that your ladyship should condescend to inquire about it.”

“Scarlet fever always begins with a very bad sore throat. Now let us see your hands.”

Mr. Collins duly held out his hands, one of which showed a horrific rash.

“Scarlet fever!” Lady Catherine scoffed. “Mr. Collins has been out in his garden, and very likely got at some tansy, or something else which has clearly irritated his hands. He must have touched his face with his hands, and that became irritated as well. We have a salve from Dr. Gibson that will be just the thing; Mrs. Jenkinson can retrieve it for you after dinner.”

“Ah, yes, you are correct as always, Lady Catherine. I recall scratching it while I was working on the roses, and I had been pulling some tansy. Your ladyship is so insightful to have realised it so quickly – I am always telling Mrs. Collins that there is none so perceptive as your ladyship.”

Elizabeth did not press the subject any further, for Lady Catherine’s explanation did seem far more plausible than her own, particularly given the lack of a sore throat. But she remembered that horrible blotchy redness of Jane’s and Catherine’s faces, and could not think with certainty that Mr. Collins’s countenance did not match it. She stayed as far away from him as she could for the rest of the evening, and was glad Darcy did the same.

23 Responses to Modern Medical Irony, and an Excerpt

  1. What an interesting post. I am always amazed when we look back and shudder at the medical procedures of the past. I wonder what future generations will say when they look back on what we are doing. Yeah, they will shake their head at the barbaric steps we are taking when to them it is so obvious that we should be doing something completely different.

    Many years ago I visited a relation at the nursing home and met an elderly lady who in later visits told me her story. She had lost her young son to an infection that started out as a sore throat that went septic. Bless her heart.

    Yeah, it looks like Mr. Collins will start something with his illness. Lady C had better be cautious or it may cost her. If that is so… poor Collins will never forgive himself if she should become ill.

    • I hadn’t really thought about future generations but I think you’re right…they’ll look back and wonder how some of our treatments could have been so backwards!

      How heartbreaking for the woman who met at the nursing home…I’ve read a bit about septic infections and they move so fast once it gets into the bloodstream.

      As for whether your conjectures about Collins and Lady C are correct…I’ll neither confirm nor deny. 😉

      Thanks for your comment, J. W.!

  2. We’ve come a long way from those early days! Thankful we live now and not then!
    Love the excerpt! When can we expect the book to be available?
    Sore throat – got one too! All these California fires – only had a half day reprieve from Carr Fire’s smoke then several fires started up further down near Sacramento! We Californians can’t win – and the fire season has just started! We could use some of that water the East Coast is getting!

    • Ouch, I didn’t think about getting a sore throat from the fires but that makes (unfortunate) sense. I really wish we could send some of our rain your way. 🙁

      The book should be out in the next couple of months. I was hoping to get it out before I head to the UK in September but this illness has been a bit of a setback, and it’s super long so it takes a long time to get editing done. I’ll definitely be posting about it here when it’s available, though, so watch this space.

    • Thanks, glad to hear you enjoyed the post and excerpt! The book should be out in the next few months and I’ll definitely be posting about it here when it’s released. 🙂

  3. I have spent a great deal of my life with strep throat. When I was young, I had the dubious privilege of a severe case, which left me with Rheumatic fever. I was laid up in bed for nearly a year—doing most of my first grade of school from home. Nasty business…

  4. Love it. My hero is a surgeon’s apprentice so I’m guilty of modern medical irony just about every other page. At the crux of the story, the heroine decides that the doctors are doing a bad job treating her injured brother and tries to perform animal magnetism, something that was viewed in their time and place as crazy French quackery. The two more “knowledgeable” characters find her treatments a great source of amusement even as they take their regular half-pint from their poor patient.

    • Haha, love it, Summer! There’s some lovely irony there…animal magnetism is probably about as effective as anything the doctors are doing, which is to say not at all effective, haha.

  5. Wonderful excerpt, Sophie 🙂 I’m sure Mr. Collins has scarlet fever.

    Sometimes I don’t realize just how advanced they were in some areas in the early 1800s. It’s interesting how facets of society advance. The tendency is to think of an upward sloping line toward progress but I bet really it’s a very wavy line. One that sometimes dips back below where it was. I do like to think, overall, the lines slopes up.

    • I like the way you describe the line dipping but ultimately sloping up, Summer! I think that’s one of the things that fascinates me about the Regency era is they were on the cusp of so much change. Travel by railway will become common during their lives, and in the medical world they’re not far from ether as the first anesthetic, and the acceptance of germ theory.

      • It would be interesting to chart moments of big change like that, you know? Two of my grandparents lived into their nineties. One embraced computers one did not, but either way, I sometimes think about how much the world changed during their lifetimes. I don’t think you can say that about every lifetime. Right now, for example, it seems more like we’re editing and changing the big breakthroughs we’ve had, not making more huge leaps forward. To go from a world where people often still got around on horses to a world with smart phones is crazy to me. I can remember my dad explaining to my grandfather that he couldn’t find a winder and didn’t need to wind his watch every day. Or, maybe there are always leaps and we can only see them when we look back 🙂

        • Oh, and on a medical note, one of my grandfathers was in the first batch of people in Upstate NY who got a revolutionary new polio treatment… penicillin. It almost certainly saved his life.

          • That’s a good point, about editing and changing the big things rather than making more huge leaps forward. I guess we won’t know what the next big leap is until we see it. I think the biggest thing we’ve had in the last 20 years is probably smart phones, but that was basically just a combination of the computer and the phone into one smaller device.

            And how coincidental, my dad was one of the first people to get the polio vaccine — his scar from it is huge.

    • Thank you, Deanna, glad to hear you enjoyed the excerpt! This book, which is part 3 of the series, should be out in the next few months and I’ll definitely be posting here when it’s available.

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