Staunton vindicator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1860-1896, 1892-11-25
OUTSIDE PATIENTS.
BUSY MORNING SCENES IN A NEW
YORK HOSPITAL.

BUSY MORNING SCENES IN A NEW
YORK HOSPITAL.
Dressing Wounds by the Score-Monoto-
nous Calling of Numbers-The Bruscue
Manners of Gentle Fingered Surgeons.
Scenes That Are Touching.
rs there anybody under seventy" They
are all under seventy, so far as age is con-
cerned, but that is not what the surgeon
is crying about. is there anybody under
seventy" he repeats, and then, very rap.
idly, 'seventy-one, seventy-two, seventy
three, seventy So here you are!'' And
he takes a man, seats him on stool,
flashes pair Of scissors around band
aged arm, and in a twinkling has laid
the flesh bare and is examining it. Then,
without asking any questions, he washes,
dries, cleans, anoints. runs his ribbonlike
bandages around the wounded limb again
with swift and skillful fingers, and lifts
the man from the stool. It is all done in a
flash.
Come again tomorrow" he says, and
then again: is there anybody under sew
enty? Anybody under seventy, seventy
one, seventy-two''-
That is the way it goes on for hours in
terminably, it seems to the watcher. els
there anybody under"-
1t is in the surgeons room # hospital,
where the daily food of wounded humani-
ty is being carried up by the tide of dis
tress to be cared for and bandaged. There
are dozen surgeons there, and always
two score or more of patients. The owners
of crushed skulls, broken limbs, bruised
faces and slashed or burned flesh are let
into the room in 'batches." They are
numbered at the door like checked hats,
and they are cared for as their number
comes around. No. is first; No. IS has
something of a wait, and No. 1872 finds a
long interval between the time he is
Checked" at the hospital door and the
minute he finds himself in busy sur
geon's hands. 1t is first come, first served,
and that is why that monotonous cry con-
stantly arises from the surgeon, SIS there
anybody under''-
1t is sorry side of life that one sees here.
The people are nearly all of them poor
desperately poor. They cannot afford the
luxury of private physician. however Sc
we're their wounds, or however eager they
are to get back to their work; and so they
come and stand in line, waiting for their
numbers to be called, that they may go up
and suffer, perhaps great deal, that after
ward they may suffer less. They are of all
ages, in rags many Of them, some of them
limping on crutches, some of them with
their heads and faces swathed deeply in
bandages, some of them with hands
wrapped around and around until they are
as big as feather pillows, some of them
with feet crushed and mangled, and all of
them miserable and suffering. And among
them are the white aproned, swift fingered,
hurrying surgeons, dressing wounds by the
dozen, dressing some of them marvelously
quick, and always going on to the next
without pause, with no tremor at the
touch of any wound, however deep or foul,
and with no twitch of the lips at any cry
or flinching from pain.
SIS there anybody under eighty-fve?
Eighty-six, eighty-seven- So, here you
are! No; go to the next table. You can't be
dressed here; you are infected Is there
anybody under eighty-eight?"
There is short pause; then, sharply:
'Eighty-nine! Is there anybody under
ninety? All, here you are. Let me see
your card, !" for every patient has card,
on which is written little history of his
reception at the hospital. his trouble and
how he has been treated. Where's your
card?"
No answer to this.
Where's your card, card, card?n
Still no answer.
"Can't speak English, eh?"
Then follows series of pantomime. The
card is fished out, the patient is placed on
the stool, and off come the bandages from
his hand. The surgeons fingers move so
lightly and rapidly that before one knows
that the man has been touched he has
slipped off his stool to the floor, and on his
knees, with his stomach pressed close to
the stool, his eyes shut, his teeth locked,
and his one whole hand clinched and quiv-
ering he fights his pain while his wound is
dressed. He has not opened his mouth,
for these people are used to suffering; they
have to bear it, but when he gets up five
minutes later with spotlessly white and
clean looking bandage on his hand he looks
as If he had marched into the valley of tor
ture and had only crawled out again.
Come again day after tomorrow" says
the surgeon, and then the same old, els
there anybody"-
1t is a boy this time. When the linen
strips are removed from his head you see
oit'o A0 las d uecp SdSu over MS eye. he
is a little pale. but he does not even whim-
per, for he has been through it all before,
and knows what must be, must be.
Nov, when was a little boy" says the
surgeon, taking the boy between his knees
and looking down into the young eyes,
you should have seen the cut had. That
was CUT" and he rattles along with his
cheerful talk, all the while his skillful
fingers fitting around that wound until
he leans back, gives half sigh and says.
You needn't come till next Monday 1t
8 all oyer before the boy knows it.
TITS busy day today" he says brightly,
and then, sis there anybody below 1902 Is
here anybody And then you get out
and walk through into the open air, which
s sweet and pure and refreshing. But
seems to follow you. It is the
'dor of carbolic acid and iodoform, and it
'ends dizzying sensation through your
brain, SO that out in the street, where
wheels are pounding on the pavements and
men are pushing and hurrying, you can
Utmost hear it-that monotonous never
'nding lis there anybody UNDER"
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