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You ask me write about my most interesting case, and I say I can’t. There is no one instance to head my list; rather there are many things which stand out in my mind as I remember my 46 years of practice.
I remember Paterson when it was just beginning to grow…when a 12 year old immigrant boy could find work in a rich man’s factory, and so help support his sisters and brothers with his $2.a week. I remember a daily $.15 allowance for lunch during medical school days, and I have a heartburning sensation every time I recall the beans which were my daily lot. For the price of a beer a man could put away a magnificent free lunch, but this fool couldn’t develop a taste for beer!
I remember the days of the horse and buggy, and the ride I took in mine. The first automobiles come to mind, and the snapshot in everyone’s album of FATHER standing proudly besides the fabulous new horseless carriage. I think back to the blizzards of the “good old days,” when a dynaflow Buick would have been most welcome and I tramped through the snowy streets that neither horse and carriage nor horseless carriage could navigate.
But most of all, I remember the people. I remember a woman who had long despaired of having children, who safely delivered triplet girls. Just making up for lost time, I guess! And I remember the 3 sets of twin on 3 successive days. I remember the man, newly arrived in this country, treated without charge when he was poor who showed his gratitude time and again when he set up his own business by supplying me with any needed items he had available. How did he know what I needed? On his own he checked my office periodically and the necessary articles appeared like manna from heaven. I remember the evening during the flu epidemic, when an urgent call brought me to a Main St. address. I walked up 3 flights of stairs, to walk in on a poker game. A first I thought it was the wrong number, until one of the men stood up, peeled off his shirt and said, “OK, Doc, I want a thorough examination.” That guy I’d like to forget.
Then there was the woman who called at 4a.m. to tell me the baby was normal now…..could she have 3 inches of banana? The bright youngster, the four year old genius in spelling, also comes to mind. “Melvin,” says the mother, “Show the doctor how smart you are. What spells M-I-L-K?” And quick as a flash Melvin replies, “Soldier.” I understand he’s a colonel in the Air Force now.
One of my most loyal patients is the woman who always calls me for advice….on any matter. On one occasion she slipped while getting on a bus and bruised her hip, and of course, followed her arrival home with an immediate call describing the accident. Should she put anything on it? She asked. “Just cold compresses,” said I. “Why cold?’ she asked. My patience (you have to be kind, too) was wearing thin, but I answered softly, “Because cold compresses help the bruise and the swelling.” “Cold, you say?” “Yes, I replied, “OK,” my lady answered, “So I’ll put hot.” I knew her to TAKE my advice, but she was very faithful asking for it.
One of my most vivid memories concerns a particular day, already busy because of the diphtheria epidemic when I found myself with 7 maternity cases at the same time. For those deliveries I had to go on foot for that was the day three young whippersnappers decided to steal my car for a joy ride.
The early days were always full of emergencies it seems to me. Everyone needed a doctor immediately. Especially the man who virtually tore down by office door in his excitement, shouting, “Doctor! Doctor! Come immediately. My wife is kidding! Believe me, HE wasn’t. I arrived at the scene in time to welcome into the world a 9.5 pound first generation Patersonian, destined to grow up with the same privileges as the descendants of Alexander Hamilton himself.
I remember too a low point in my career when I visited one of my first patients in the hospital and she was in the midst of her bed bath. I was told to wait outside, which I did, finally to be summoned by the nurse, calling, “Alright, little boy, you can go in to see mother now.” Crestfallen, but still undaunted, I insisted that I was the doctor, then drew myself up to my full size and marched into the room.
Forty-six years is quite a span.
Dr. Morris S. Joelson
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