Page 35 - Fever 1793

CHAPTER TEN September 6th, 1793
The patient is to be placed in a large empty tub, and two buckets full of water, of the temperature 75 or 80 degrees Fahrenheit’s thermometer, . . . are to be thrown on him.
Eliza shook my shoulder.
I woke at once, with a sharp breath. Outside the sky was turning pale gold. Mockingbirds were
singing. Mother slept, her skin the color of an old weathered barn. At least she was alive.
“Your grandfather and I have found help,” Eliza whispered. “Dr. Kerr. He’s educated, from
Scotland.”
Dr. Kerr nodded to me. He was a small man wearing a black coat and carrying a small medical case.
He set the case on the floor and opened Mother’s eyelids with his fingers. She slept on. “Where’s Grandfather?” I asked.
“Waiting downstairs,” Eliza said.
“How was she in the night?” Dr. Kerr asked as he started his examination.
“I did everything Mr. Rowley instructed. I bathed her and gave her tea. I tried to keep the bedclothes clean, but . . . we’ll wash today. She finally slept after midnight. Do you think she looks better? She feels a little cooler to me. Mr. Rowley said it was just an autumnal fever, nothing serious.”
Eliza pulled me close to her. “Shhh,” she said gently.
Dr. Kerr rose off the bed. “Damned fool,” he growled.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Rowley, the imposter. Autumnal fever indeed. Your mother has yellow fever. There’s no doubt at
all.”
Yellow fever.
My mouth moved, but I could not breathe. It made no sense. Mother wouldn’t allow it. She had given
birth to me in the morning and cooked supper for ten that night. She survived the British occupation while my father fought with Washington’s troops. Mother would beat back illness with a broom.
A loud moan interrupted my thoughts. Dr. Kerr laid his fingers on Mother’s wrist.
“Her pulse is fast and strong,” he said. “This is the crisis. She must be bled.”
Dear God. “Won’t that weaken her more?” I asked.
“Bunkum,” Dr. Kerr said angrily. “Dr. Rush has proven that bleeding is the only way to save a patient
this close to the grave.”
“But she could mend yet,” Eliza said.
Dr. Kerr took a small lancet from his bag. It glinted in the sunlight. He handed me a basin and told
Eliza to hold Mother’s shoulders. I felt faint.
“Her pulse is full, quick, and tense,” he said, pushing up Mother’s sleeve. “Hold the basin right
against her arm. The pestilence boils within her blood and must be drained.”
I flinched as the lancet flashed and blood from Mothers arm poured into the basin. Dr. Kerr handed me
a second basin when the first was full. My stomach turned over, but I clenched my jaw and stood firm. “There,” he said finally. He bandaged the cut on her arm and rolled down her sleeve. Mother lay still
—Dr. Adam Kuhn Philadelphia, 1793