The Story of a Doctor's Telephone Part 48

"She's doin' fine."

"She's just about a week old now, isn't she?"

"A week yesterday. Don't you want to see how much she's growed?"

The doctor went to the bed and looked down at the wee little maiden.

"Great G.o.d!" he exclaimed, so fiercely that the woman was frightened.

"Why haven't you let me know about this baby's eyes?"

"W'y, we didn't think it'd 'mount to anything. We thought they'd git well in a day or two."

"She'll be blind in less than a week if something isn't done for them."

"Grandmother's been a doctorin' 'em some."

"Well, there's going to be a change of doctors right straight. I'm going to treat this baby's eyes myself."

"We don't want any strong medicine put in a baby's eyes."

"It don't make a bit of difference what you want. I'm going to the drug store now to get what I need and I want you to have warm water and clean cloths ready by the time I get back. Is there anyone here to do it?"

"There's a piece of a girl out there in the kitchen. She ain't much 'count." The doctor went to the kitchen door and gave his orders.

"I'd ruther you'd let the baby's eyes alone. I'm afraid to have strong medicine put in 'em."

For answer he went out, got into the buggy and drove rapidly back to town where he procured what he needed and in a few minutes was back.

"You'd better come in this time, Mary, you'll get tired of waiting and besides I want you to see this baby. I want you to know something about what every father and mother ought to understand."

They went in and the doctor took the baby up and seated himself by the chair on which stood a basin of water. The mother, with very ungracious demeanor, looked on. Mary, shocked and filled with pity, looked down into the baby's face. The inflammation in the eyes was terrible. The secretion constantly exuded and hung in great globules to the tiny lids.

Never in her life had she seen anything like it. "Let me hold it for you," she said, sitting down and taking the baby in her lap.

The doctor turned the little head toward him and held it gently between his knees. He took a pair of goggles from his pocket and put them over his eyes to protect them from the poison, then tenderly as any mother could have done, he bathed and cleansed the poor little eyes opening so inauspiciously upon the world. He thought as he worked of this terrible scourge of infancy, producing one-third of all the blindness in the world. He thought too, that almost all of this blindness was preventable by prompt and proper treatment. Statistics had proven these two things beyond all doubt. He thought of the earnest physicians who had labored long to have some laws enacted in regard to this stupendous evil but with little result.[1]

[1] 1. Ophthalmia Neonatorum

2. There has been legislation for the prevention of blindness in the States of New York, Maine, Rhode Island and Illinois.

When they were in the buggy again Mary said, "But what if the baby goes blind after all? Of course they would say that you did it with your 'strong medicine.'"

"Of course they would, but that would not disturb me in the least. But it will not go blind now. I'll see to that."

Soon they had left the town behind them and were fairly on their way.

The soft, yet bracing, air of the April morning was delightful. The sun shone warm. Birds carolled everywhere. The buds on the oak trees were swelling, while those on the maples were bursting into red and furzy bloom. Far off to the left a tall sycamore held out white arms in welcome to the Springtime and perfect stillness lay upon the landscape.

"I am so glad the long reign of winter and bad roads is ended, John, so I can get out with you again into the blessed country."

"And I am glad to have good company."

"Thanks for that gallant little speech. Ask me often, but I won't go every time because you might get tired of me and I'd be sure to get tired of you."

"Thanks for that gracious little speech."

That evening when the doctor and Mary were sitting alone, she said, "John, that baby's eyes have haunted me all day long. And you say one-third of the blindness of the world is due to this disease."

"Yes."

"That seems to me a terrific accusation against you doctors. What have you been doing to prevent it?"

"Everything that has been done--not very much, I'm afraid. Speaking for myself, I can say that I have long been deeply interested. I have written several papers on the subject--one for our State Medical Society."

"So far so good. But I'd like to know more about it."

"Write to the secretary of the State Board of Health for all the information that he can give you."

The next day Mary wrote. Three days later she received the following letter:

SPRINGFIELD, NOV. 16, 1909.

My dear Mrs. Blank:

Several states of the Union have laws in relation to the prevention of blindness, some good, some bad, and some indifferent, and I fear that the last applies to the manner in which the laws are enforced in the majority of the States. In the December, 1908, _Bulletin_ of this Board, a copy of which I send you under separate cover, you will find the Illinois law, which, as you can readily see, is very difficult of enforcement.

But, as I said, much can be done in its enforcement if the State Board of Health can secure the co-operation of the physicians of the State. However, in this connection you will note that I have made an appeal to physicians, on page 757. Yet, to the best of my knowledge, the Board has not received one inquiry in regard to the enforcement of this law, except from the Committee on the Prevention of Ophthalmia Neonatorum.

In regard to the other States, it will take me some time to look up the laws, but I will advise you in a few days.

Sincerely yours, J. A. EGAN.

After reading it carefully through, Mary's eye went back to the sentence, "Much can be done if the State Board of Health can secure the co-operation of the physicians of the State."

She rose and walked the floor. "If I were a Voice--a persuasive voice,"

she thought, "I would fly to the office of every physician in our great State and then to every physician in the land and would whisper in his ear, 'It is your glorious privilege to give light to sightless eyes. It is more: it is your sacred duty. O, be up and doing!'"

"To think, John," she said, turning impetuously toward her husband, "that I, all these years the wife of a man who knows this terrible truth, should just be finding it out. Then think of the thousands of men and women who know nothing about it. How are they to know? Who is to tell them? Who is to blame for the blindness in the first place? Who can--"

Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling. Ting-a-ling-ling-ling.

"Is this Dr. Blank?"

"Yes."

"This is Mr. Ardmore. Can you come up to my house right away?"

"Right away."