HARALAMBIE GEORGE CICMA: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY Part XI

Internship
Lynn City Hospital

We returned to Marlboro after the graduation ceremony and, while Ioana was packing our few belongings, I went to Lynn to try to find us lodgings for the coming year. After much searching, I found a first floor room which I felt would be ideal. I put a deposit on it, holding it for our arrival on June 21st or 22nd.

A countryman of ours who owned an old fruit truck helped us to move—through the grace of God we arrived safely in Lynn—all the way we thought that the poor old truck would not make it—he helped us to unload our baggage and then presented us with a large bag of fresh fruit!

I was tired from the trip and all the excitement of embarking on my internship, so as soon as we entered our new “home,” I started to babble on about what a wonderful and happy life we had ahead of us. Ioana just stood there like a dummy and finally she began to cry. “What is the matter? What is troubling you?” No answer. “Aren’t you feeling well? Perhaps the ride has made you nauseous. What is it? Please, answer me.”

I kept on begging and coaxing her to explain her tears and she finally made me understand that the room I had chosen was not to her taste! “Well, if you don’t like this room we can find another one tomorrow. Right now we are both upset and we need a good rest.”

“No, no, I won’t stay here even one hour. I hate this room and I hate this house and I won’t spend another minute here,” she replied.

It was already after five-thirty in the evening but she insisted and so we began to look for another room to rent. The suitcases were heavy, the bag of fruit which our friendly chauffeur had so kindly given us began to leak and the sticky juices adorned my jacket—also my feet were killing me! We walked and looked, looked and walked, on and on. “This house looks better,” Ioana finally announced, “We can stay here for tonight.”

This house was a considerable distance from the hospital so I arranged to rent it by the day so that we could look for something nearer— you may be certain that I took my wife with me the next day and she was the one who made the final decision. We had looked at, and she had refused so many rooms that I was about ready to give up but finally she spotted a “Room to Let” sign on a small house; it proved to be a private home which rented out only one room, first floor front, Ioana liked it so I was satisfied—in addition to its being a very pleasant room, there was the additional advantage that several daughters lived in the house and so Ioana would not lack companionship. We moved in immediately and so saved the additional payment of another night’s lodging; I lost my deposit on the other room, but this did not bother me as I wanted my Ioana to be happy.

***

The following day I reported to Lynn City Hospital and was sent directly to the office of the Superintendent. I was surprised to find that such a large institution could be headed by an elderly lady! Miss Vera A. Allen/a registered nurse, greeted me professionally, informed me that the hospital had engaged the services of five interns; we would be required to wear white uniforms and white shoes; our pay was to be fifteen dollars a month, of this amount we were allowed to withdraw only five dollars, the balance was held until the completion of our year’s work. She filled me in as to the rotation system employed by the hospital and informed me that I was to start in the Obstetrical Department.

“Furthermore,” she concluded, “this is a City Hospital and it is famous for the number of accident cases we treat; the Police Department brings them in day and night, so there is always plenty of work to do.” She personally escorted me to the intern’s quarters and introduced me to the others; she wished us all “Good luck,” and left us.

The interns were very presentable young men, one was a Harvard graduate, two were from Tufts (these three were Jewish), the fourth intern was Portuguese, a graduate of Middlesex Medical School. I was exceedingly surprised to find that this hospital would accept someone from a non-accredited school but later I found out that several members of the Board of Trustees were affiliated with Middlesex and that the Chief of the Orthopedic Department had received his degree there—he was an exceedingly fine physician—proving once again that the graduates make the institution rather than vice versa.

We dressed in our uniforms and put on our white shoes, then headed for the dining room to have breakfast; as soon as I started to eat, I heard a call for Dr. Cicma to report immediately to the delivery room. I left my food and ran, the patient was ready, the head was already in sight; I delivered a ten pound baby, using my own method. The mother, however, had not been properly prepared and some of the bloody fluids fell on my new white shoes, staining them irreparably. I had to wear my regular shoes until I was able to procure another set of whites. The nurses were surprised at how easily I had handled my first obstetrical case and they reported this to the Superintendent who called me into her office to personally commend my work.

The Obstetrical Department had two chiefs and several assistants; one chief was rather radical, he would not give the mother a chance to deliver normally, as soon as the patient started labor he would administer a grain of morphine, would extract the baby by forceps, then repair the tears and give her another dose of morphine at the end of the operation.

Our other chief was a completely humane conservative. My second case was a primipara (first baby) and the chief came into the department to show me his method of delivery: after labor was established, he took time to apply hot Lysol compresses to the perineum, he took advantage of labor pains to help stretch the vagina, asking the patient to bear down when the pains became more frequent and, when the head was finally in sight, having the mother breath heavily and rapidly through the mouth. He watched me carefully through the complete delivery and then examined the patient very carefully, “Good, you did an excellent job, no tears; from here on, you are on your own. Keep up the good work.”

The hospital had the usual rule that after supper all interns had to visit their departments, checking patients with the night nurses and ordering medication for the night. I was just starting my Surgical Department work and, when I went on my first rounds, I discovered that the night supervisor had already done the work; ordering sedatives and, more often cathartics (I learned later that she ordered the laxatives to make it easier for the nurses, they did not have to give so many enemas). I spoke about this unauthorized medication and she said that if I didn’t like the way she did things, I could report her to Miss Allen. I said, “Fine, I’ll do that,” and I did.

Superintendent Allen was surprised to learn of this procedure and thanked me for bringing it to her attention; someone too lazy to do his own work had let the supervisor take over for him and no one had had the guts to report her until I came along! Human nature is always contrary and, after this incident, the night supervisor was very friendly to me and respected my personal integrity and my work.

In addition to the fifteen dollars a month stipend, I found out later that all the ether anesthesias were done by the interns and they were paid for this work. The Head Nurse in charge of the Operating Room, turned all these cases over to whichever intern was willing to “play ball” with her; I was given none of these jobs as I had no time to entertain her nor was I willing to kick-back any of the fees. The only money I got from anesthesia was when I was in the Nose and Throat Department; here I met Dr. Lyons, he was an Associate Professor at Harvard Medical School and was one of the best nose and throat specialists in the whole country. He taught me to use the “snare method” of tonsillectomy, this removed the tonsil completely and without bleeding. It was he who informed me that the Head Nurse was supposed to distribute the cases in rotation to each intern but, as he said, “You will find dishonest people everywhere.” He liked the way I gave ether and to help me, he turned all his cases to me.

On my first evening rounds in the Medical Department, I was taken by the nurse-in-charge into the women’s ward to examine them and prescribe medication for the night; she failed to warn me that there was a drug addict among them. When I reached her bed, this woman grabbed me by the coat and demanded, “Two or three small white tablets, for my pain, for my awful pain. Hurry, hurry.”

“One second, do not get so excited. I want to help you with your pain, but let go of my coat so I can get to the drug room. I promise you that I will give you two big white tablets equal to eight small tablets and you will sleep right through the night without any pain.” I went to the Pharmacy, picked up two five grain white aspirin and told her to take one with a full glass of water when she was ready to go to sleep. “You will sleep well, you will feel no pain; if you should wake up in the night, take the other tablet, but I do not think you will need it.” She slept all night!!! One five grain aspirin, thinking she was getting four morphine tablets, kept her comfortable until she was discharged. This incident went through the hospital like a brush fire and I was sometimes accused of using mesmerism or hypnotism on the patients; this bothered me not at all, I was interested in results, not procedures.

I completed my service on the Medical Department and one of the young Jewish doctors took over. A short time later a young man who worked at a tannery was hospitalized with Rabies which he had picked up from the animal skins; a spinal puncture was required and had been assigned to the Medical Intern. I noticed that all three Jewish doctors were quite excited at dinner and that they left the table without even waiting for their dessert—something important must be up as we ate all we were served and never, never skipped the dessert! I learned later that they had the Rabies patient in one of the side treatment rooms which lined the corridor near the dining room; with the help of one of the nurses they each tried, in turn to effect the spinal puncture so that medication could be introduced; they worked for almost an hour and none of them was able to do the job! I finished my dinner and stopped in to see what they were doing, all three were sweating and cursing; without hesitation they asked me if I wanted to try it. I did, of course, and the job was completed in ten minutes.

The nurse on duty advised Miss Allen as to what had actually transpired and I was again called into theoffice for commendation. The other interns spread their word all over the hospital—saying what a good job they had done! Miss Allen was seen to conceal a smile when their particular version of the procedure was mentioned.

Lynn City Hospital Out-Patient Department Clinics were always packed with extremely interesting cases, especially the Venereal Diseases and the Pediatrics Clinic.   a week they had a special Tuberculosis Clinic, social workers from all over the city would bring in anyone they suspected to having this illness. One day they brought in two very interesting cases.

The first was a young Greek, about twenty-four years old, well-built but complaining of a hacking cough, feeling warm and lazy in the afternoon and also losing weight. I took a complete history and while doing so, I was reminded of a Boston University classmate. I asked if he had bought anything to wear from a second-hand store. He replied that he had purchased a beautiful fur coat which he not only wore outdoors but sometimes used on his bed to keep himself warm. When I applied my stethoscope to his chest, I found that the left lung was completely affected but the right lung was still O.K. My superiors, after a thorough examination, agreed with my diagnosis and he was sent to a sanatorium and, fortunately, he was well a year later.

The second patient was a man of about forty-five years, well-built but pale, complaining of shortness of breath and severe cough on exertion, no other symptoms. I examined his chest and found both lungs clear with the exception of a few rales at both bases, due to edema. His heart was very bad and he needed immediate hospitalization for complete rest and treatment; as soon as I mentioned his entering the hospital, he stated that he was a Christian Scientist and did not believe in doctors or hospitals; his practitioner would take care of his condition. I told him that I was sorry to predict that it would not be long before he would be brought back to Lynn City Hospital and by that time it would be too late for us to help him. Two weeks later he was rushed into Emergency, his body blue, gasping for breath, begging for help; we treated him but were unable to prevent his death.

The accident room was busy twenty four hours a day, everything from slight lacerations to fatal stab wounds, gun wounds, would-be and actual suicides, also an enormous number of vehicle accidents were seen, especially on Saturdays and Sundays. These cases came not only from Lynn, but also from Marblehead. One evening the police ambulance brought in a young lady, perhaps twenty-two years old, who had attempted suicide by taking Iodine, her lips were covered with the substance; I was preparing to administer the antidote and then to lavage her stomach when one of our armed watchmen walked in and took one look at her. “Wait a minute, Doctor, I know how to cure this young woman,” he took out his revolver and gave it to her. “Here, if you want to commit suicide, finish the job.” She just handed the gun back. “Now, get out of here and don’t bother this poor doctor anymore,” instructed the officer. She walked out under her own power, miraculously recovered. She knew the rotation schedule and whenever a new intern was assigned to the accident room, she would put Iodine on her lips and call the police—I never saw her again.

I especially enjoyed working with the children, infants through teenagers; on all lacerations I used my own particular type of stitching procedure, perfected during my days at the Dispensary: I would first talk to the patient and explain what I was going to do, assuring them that it would be best if I did the work without giving them a pain-killing injection—that I would do the job so quickly and painlessly that they would not feel a thing—actually the pain of the injection was greater than that of the stitches. I would keep on talking and stitching and, at the end, they would all admit that they had felt no pain. When I first started using this technique, the nursesthought that it as very cruel but they all agreed that they were as pleased with the results as the patients were!

***

I experienced three episodes which might have terminated my internship and could have led to a disastrous ending of my medical career—except for the fact that Superintendent Allen stood in back of me (and the actuality of good diagnosis and treatment on my part)—I might have been expelled and would not have been able to secure a position in another hospital.

I was on duty in the Accident Room; a police ambulance brought in an emergency case, Acute Appendicitis, at about 2:30 A.M.

I rushed to the accident room and found a young girl with severe abdominal pain. I asked the nurse to take her temperature while I watched the patient. I wondered about the onset of these pains. The temperature was normal, the pains were of a suspicious nature—certainly this was the result of an illegal abortion.

I instructed the nurse to put her to bed in one of the isolation rooms. Examination showed that her chest was negative, abdomen normal except that the lower part, below the umbilicus, was larger than normal— strong, bearing-down pains proved that she was definitely pregnant and in active labor. She was a nice looking girl, only fifteen years old, I really felt very sorry for the young lady.

I requested that another nurse be brought in, to act as a witness. We then looked at her genitalia, without actually touching anything. She had some bleeding and there was something protruding from the vagina. We had been sternly warned not to do anything for a person who might have been aborted. I could not leave her in the terrible, screaming pain she was experiencing; I proceeded to put my hand on her abdomen, pressing the fundus of the uterus and the fetus and the placenta were expressed. She immediately felt more comfortable. I asked the nurses to save everything for the Surgical Chief, when he made his morning rounds.

I couldn’t sleep at all that night  because I knew this man very well; I was certain that he would give me a bad call-down, but I didn’t expect him to fire me. I made up my mind to leave this case until the end of the rounds, finally I took him to the patient and began to explain the situation. He started to read my notes on the chart, before he had completed it, and without listening to my story, he began to swear at me—right in front of the patient. He stated that he was going directly to the office and would tell Superintendent Allen to expel me because I had disobeyed his orders.

I did the only thing I could do, I told him to do whatever his conscience directed. “I know that I did not do anything that was wrong.” The two nurses went to the office and told just what had transpired, the whole truth. I was called into the office but instead of reprimanding me, Miss Allen congratulated me for what I had done to relieve the pain and suffering of this patient and told me to keep on with the good work. I thanked her and, from that time on, I had no further trouble with that nincompoop surgeon.

***

After this incident, everyone realized that I had the courage to stand on my own two feet and to fight for what I considered to be right. My work started to go smoothly and everyone was talking about my progress.

One Saturday afternoon about a week before Christmas, I was called to the Accident Room to attend a young man of about twenty-two years. He had been helping a friend saw a board and in the process had completely severed the thumb from his right hand. He was brought to the hospital in a Cadillac limousine; the wound was traumatized and there was only a minimum of bleeding; they had had the foresight to also bring the severed member, neatly wrapped in a clean handkerchief.

I was taking the history and suddenly a bright idea flashed into my bony head. I instructed the nurse to prepare for stitches and to have at least a quart of normal saline solution ready.

I then explained to the patient that I would try to save his hand by sewing the thumb back in position. I told him that this was more or less of a gamble but—if it was successful he could regain the use of his hand—I also informed him that I was going to apply the stitches without anesthesia but that he would feel no pain.

I cleaned the hand and the thumb and proceeded to soak them in the saline solution for about ten minutes. I placed the thumb on the hand in as correct a position as possible and I applied about 20 25 stitches. I put on a splint, bandaged the hand and asked the patient not to touch the dressing but to return to the Surgical Clinic in one week to have it removed professionally.

I admonished the nurse to say nothing about this case until I had had an opportunity to report to the surgeon in charge. A week later the young man came to the clinic, he was very happy, assuring me that he had experienced no pain or discomfort. I expected to have a hot argument with the chief so I left this patient to the end of the list.

Before I brought him in I explained all the circumstances—this case had required a serious decision. I had called the two surgeons who were supposed to be on call but they were “not available”; it was up to me to decide whether or not to try to save the use of the patient’s hand. I reminded the doctor that it was always possible to remove the thumb later, if necessary, but the other surgery had been imperative, if I had waited it would have been impossible to try to rejoin the thumb and hand.

Together we removed the dressing. The wound looked clean and the color of the thumb matched the rest of the hand. Thank God, my venture had succeeded. The surgeon, instead scolding me, congratulated me on my decision and initiative. The young man thanked me profusely for saving his right hand, he made a complete recovery and everyone involved was very happy.

***

At Lynn City Hospital there were three doctors in the Nose and Throat Department. Dr. Lyons was the chief, the was a Clinical Professor of Nose and Throat at Harvard Medical School, a most  excellent physician; he employed the snare method for removing tonsils. This method not only gave complete removal but was practically bloodless and was accomplished in only a few minutes. Not only was he a good, ethical doctor, but he was also a perfect gentleman.

The other two specialists, one a Frenchman and the second a Jew (I thought so little of them that I cannot even remember their names) were using the guillotine method, removing the tonsils piecemeal, a procedure which resulted in many complications, especially bleeding, and also took a very long time to complete.

Dr. Lyons was the best physician but the Jewish doctor was the busiest man. He employed 3 or 4 nurses in his office, had a chauffeur, two Cadillacs, he charged very high prices but had a multitude of patients. In view of the fact that he was such an inadequate physician, no one could understand just how he had established and maintained such a remunerative practice.

My turn to be in charge of the Nose and Throat Clinic arrived. It was interesting work and I am happy to say that Dr. Lyons taught me his bloodless, snare tonsillectomy technique and I employed this exclusively in my practice. One day the Greek Orthodox Priest brought in a young man, about eighteen, and asked me to do him a favor and examine the boy’s throat.

I, after the examination, informed the priest that a tonsillectomy was needed as soon as possible and I suggested that the youth’s father take him to Dr. Lyons, the best Nose and Throat man in Lynn City Hospital. A week later I met the young man in the corridor, he told me that he was on his way to the operating room to have his tonsils out (in those days the patient just walked in, had the operation, and then went home!).

I knew that Dr. Lyons would not be in that day so I asked who was going to do the operation. The story that he told me was almost unbelievable. His father owned a restaurant and there was a Jewish man who ate there regularly. The owner told him about his son’s need of a tonsillectomy and this man, who apparently was one of the doctor’s proselytes, informed him that if any member of his family had any nose or throat trouble they should go to his friend, the Best Nose and Throat Specialist in the Whole Country! The boy’s father took him to the office and it was packed with people, they waited over two hours and then finally got in to see the “Great Specialist.” He took one look at the young man’s throat and immediately told them that an operation was needed as soon as possible—because the tonsils had “turned to Cancer.”  The operation would cost about three hundred dollars, to do a “good job.”

I had to stop for a minute to try to digest this fantastic tale.  How could any doctor stoop so low as to terrify people to make bloody money? I then told the youth to go home, that he had no Cancer of the Throat, he merely needed a simple tonsillectomy. “Young man, as I told the priest, you need to go to a good throat specialist and Dr. Lyons is one of the best in the country, have your father make an appointment with him. You can trust him implicitly, not only to make a correct diagnosis but to do the surgical procedure properly.”

He went home and delivered my message, Dr. Lyons reassured them and performed the operation for only $50.00. The young man suffered no complications and had complete relief from his symptoms. The priest and the restaurant owner were very appreciative of my efforts.

It took the Jewish doctor about two weeks to find out what had happened to his patient. He came to the hospital and gave me one of the worst tirades I have ever been subjected to. He then went to the office of the Superintendent and told her to fire me because I had interfered with his private patient and his practice. He gave only his side of the story as he did not dare to tell the truth.

As usual, I was called in and I told Miss Allen the whole sordid situation. She paused for a minute and then she said, “My God, I would never have believed that any doctor would stoop so low as to terrify people so that he could charge more. We knew that he was using some shabby tricks to attract people because, although he is the least able man on the staff, he is the busiest and the richest.”

“I wish,” she continued, “that he could be put out of the hospital but it is impossible at present as he has many influential friends on the board. However, I certainly am not going to dismiss you, no matter what he says. I can only commend you for having the courage and stamina to defend the welfare of that unfortunate patient.”

***

A few years later, after I had established my practice in Providence, Rhode Island, I chanced to meet a young Jewish Nose and Throat specialist in our hospital—he looked exactly like the doctor from Lynn City Hospital—he was talking big, bragging that he was extremely busy and was making lots of money. I could not help myself, I had to ask if he had a relative in the same specialty who worked in Lynn. He said that he did not.

We had been acquainted about three weeks when he asked me to give Ether for a couple of tonsillectomies. I agreed and I had an opportunity to see what poor work he was doing! He used the guillotine method, taking them out bit by bit, bleeding was profuse, it was necessary to use  a pump; a simple tonsillectomy took him almost an hour. That was the first and last time I ever worked with him.

A few months later, March, 1928, James Marsis, who was the owner of the Minerva Restaurant in Providence, walked into my waiting room. He had been well recommended by several of my Greek  patents. Jim was 39 years old, well built but somewhat pale, his main complaints were frequent sore throats, head colds and, recently, pain in his joints. I checked him thoroughly and everything was negative except large, cheesy tonsils. “Now, Jim, I am glad to say that everything is normal but you have to have your tonsils out just as soon as possible.” He agreed and I took him to the Homeopathic Hospital and removed them, without complications. He got well and we became very good friends; Mr. Marsis referred many patients to me, telling them that I had “saved his life.”

Approximately four months later he developed, for no apparent reason, a dry hacking cough. He called me and I tried to reassure him over the telephone but he insisted oncoming for a check-up. I had charged him $35.00 for the operation but had received no payment for this or for any of his visits, so what did one more charged visit mean?

I gave him a thorough examination and tried to convince him that everything was normal. I gave him something to use as a gargle and a preparation for spraying his throat as needed. This condition continued for about 5 or 6 months, in my opinion it was simply a nervous habit, firmly established and difficult to break.

Jim Marsis walked into my office one day, accompanied by a very good friend of mine, Mr. Costakos. Mr. Marsis was so angry and upset that he could not talk and had requested that Mr. Costakos be his spokesman. It was painful for me to hear, “Dr. Cicma, you know that we love you as a truthful man and as the best doctor in the world—but you have told Jim that there is nothing wrong with him. Now, I want you to examine his throat and then tell us, if he has Cancer.”

When I heard this I started to laugh—immediately the thought entered my mind that he must have been examined by the Jewish doctor to whom I have referred (the same one who was so prosperous and who had assured me that he would teach me how to be equally successful). I asked for further details and Mr. Costakos told me that a customer at the Minerva Restaurant had told Jim that his cough must be a symptom of something very serious and then he gave him the card of the “Best Nose and Throat Specialist in the Country.” Not only that, but he accompanied Jim to the office to make sure that he kept his appointment! As soon as they entered, the specialist addressed his friend and asked why he had waited so long to bring the patient, this was a very sick man!

He started to examine Mr. Marsis and immediately he announced, “Just as I thought, cancer of the throat. Now, don’t panic. I can destroy this Cancer with this powerful machine which is especially designed for Cancer Treatment, it will only take about 15 to 20 minutes but, the sooner we destroy the growth, the better chance you have to get well. I have only oneopen appointment, tomorrow at 9:00  A.M. Be here on time, bring $250.00 and I will take care of you.”

A sad story, I was outraged but I immediately thought of the solution. “Jim, I am going to call this great specialist right now. I want you to go into the kitchen and listen on the extension telephone there; listen very carefully but do not say anything.”

I made the call and that big four flusher started to tell me that it was a long time since he had seen me, how much he missed my assisting him, etc. I interrupted him abruptly and asked him to tell me plainly what was wrong with my good friend, James Marsis.

“Now, Cicma, don’t get excited, I examined him and I find that you did a very good job of removing his tonsil. I tried to convince him that he has no Cancer but you know how people are, they make their own diagnosis.”

I didn’t want to listen to any more of this so I just hung up. Jim became insanely angry and said that he was going to the specialist’s office and kill him.

I quieted him down and asked him to, just as soon as possible, make an appointment with Dr. Michael O’Connor, who actually was one of the best Nose and Throat Specialists in the country!

Dr. O’Connor examined Mr. Marsis thoroughly and assured him that there was no evidence of Cancer. He also stated that “The doctor who removed your tonsils did a wonderful job, even I could not do it better.”

This pacified Mr. Marsis for a few months but the fear of Cancer returned; he didn’t dare to bother me again so some of his friends suggested that he be checked up in Boston. He went to the  Massachusetts General Hospital and also the Lahey Clinic; later he was examined in New York City. Everywhere he went they told him the same thing— that he had no Cancer and that whoever had removed his tonsils had done a good job!

It took him over three years to get this fear of Cancer (Cancerphobia) out of his system and mind, it also cost him a great deal of money. As for my bill, I still have a pile of restaurant checks, I and my  family ate my fee!

***

I believe this would be a good place to cite another case of Cancerphobia. An old patient of mine from Newport, Rhode Island, a Greek about 42 years old, picture of health, weighing about 200 pounds. He had never been really sick, I had been treating him for Chronic Eczema of the upper and lower extremities, he got well and we became good friends. He owned one of the best restaurants in Newport and every time I was in that city he would treat me to a lavish dinner of lobster or steak.

He attended a Cancer Prevention Lecture which was given by an excellent young physician who showed slides to illustrate the symptoms of beginning Cancer of the stomach and other organs of the body. The audience was advised that, if they had any of the symptoms, they should not wait but go to their doctor at once, for a complete check-up.

My old patient occasionally had a “sour-stomach,” especially after eating too many sweets. He also had some gas pains. This caused him to believe that he already had Cancer and this nearly led to his self destruction. Right from the beginning he lost his appetite. He was unable to sleep as he was always seeing the pictures which the doctor had demonstrated to them.

He started to go from doctor to doctor and eventually went to Massachusetts General Hospital. No one could find anything wrong with him. Also, no one could convince him that it was only his imagination.  This fear of Cancer continued and in less than a year he was practically a skeleton and was dying by inches. It was a fortunate day for him when he decided to come to see me for the last time.

He was in my waiting room, with a gift of three large lobsters; I looked at him but he was so changed that I could hardly recognize him. “Dr. Cicma, I am dying of Cancer of the Stomach. I have been everywhere and no one can help me.”

I took a complete history and immediately realized that fear was slowly killing him. To encourage him, I did a full physical examination—except for the weight loss, everything was normal—this was clearly a psychosomatic case and I had to use my ingenuity to try to bring him back to health (and sanity).

I completed the examination and then said, “Thank God, your Cancer has done no harm to any of the organs of your body and you have a very good chance to get well if you will listen to my advice.” (I knew that if I said that he had no trouble, he would not believe me but by referring to his imaginary ailment by name he was better able to face the  fact that there was help for him.) I outlined my famous diet, three good meals every day, plenty of fresh vegetables, meat and fish, milk and eggs; all the fresh fruit he wanted to eat between meals, and the drinking of at least eight glasses of water each day. I dispensed a placebo tablet for him to take if he had any trouble with his digestion, to be taken only when really needed. He persevered and in three months he got well!

Fear can destroy a man faster than any disease.

***

My year at Lynn City Hospital provided me with an education not only in medicine but in human nature. I have always been deeply grateful for the kindness of Superintendent Allen, the cooperation of the fine nurses and the knowledge I acquired from the physicians (both good and bad) with whom I associated there. It was a tiring but greatly rewarding experience.

To be continued